When it Rains
beneath a bridge
there lives no troll
but a shadow
of a human
being
who for
whatever reason
has lost
his or her way
in the world
and maybe the way
was never clear
was never shown
for not all souls
begin with warmth
and song
we are not all born
in hospitals
swaddled in cribs
with families
waiting
to take us home
to live
under roofs
with walls
and floors
and lighting
and provisions
and even if that’s
a possibility
it does not guarantee
love
for the outside of a dwelling
can be so deceptive
to a passerby
whether it be a mansion
or a humble abode
each homeless person knows
from whence they came
but they know not
where they will go
where they will end up
for they get stuck
in place
and become part
of the landscape
TL