Unhinged again.
Tired and untied,
loosely bundled,
huddled and dodging
rain puddles.
Cold cement, slick and
unforgiving, giving you
sweet/sour visions of
each year gone past.
Longing to be home at last;
warmth and a television broadcast.
Something remains.
Some distance retains
its unsympathetic pains
embedded in the grains of your being.
Being so cold, coy, together, but alone
for the long winter to come.