he laid in a gutter of sorrow
sorrow feels like dirt

covers him
keeps him sheltered
feels likes home

home was a place of silence

the night it rained
water poured down these broken streets
in the midst of the gutter
he found burnt up library books

read the Egdar Allen Poe's
out loud to himself

the ink ran form the pages
covered his hands
in the black the soft whisper of poets

the sky was empty
so were his eyes

under the willow trees
he sleeps next to these books
covers them from rain
keeps them sheltered
feels at home