DS Maolalai

Shelter Nonetheless

 

the pavement, all wet

and as dirty as frogs. the water,

a mirror, just showing

imperfection. the way

that it lands and the way

that it speckles – the way it bends light

and betrays the wild rough. and rain 

is not falling – no; 

rain has fallen. pigeons pick up

the dropped filters of cigarettes, 

shedding their brown 

paper sleeves. someone in a doorway

and the shadow of a doorway

taking shelter from nothing,

but shelter nonetheless. 

he is safe, he is standing,

one hand in a pocket. it's evening, 

he inhales, and his face

is lit up.

was_my_Father_concrete_sculpture_18_cm_x_30_cm.jpg