Homeless

Skagit River, PNW Washington State [photo by author]

I slow walk the river’s edge
and embroider my cane

churning eddies sing
roiling out the
music of life
and death

Do you know your home?

Is it in the constant gurgle and shudder
of rippling eddies ?

Is it in the jar of paint?

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Or perhaps it is in the scratch of bristles stretched on
wet linen.

Or, is it in the heart of another dream?
A dry road etched with dust and snow.

Today at dawn

there were errant answers from the croaking frogs

Cold cheering
From the seers of the soggy thicket.

Upriver, under a bridge slept the children
of the homeless.

They cannot sing.

Or know.