He’s 40, looking 60;

Lost at 4th and Temple.

Shivering and wet

he huddles in a tent

pulling apart at the seam.

His family; exhausted

sit with their helplessness

as tears flow

comingling with drops

set loose by the

atmospheric river

travelling over the night.

You walk on by,

taking an internal assessment

of this young man.

“Crazy, druggy,”

of a man,

of whom you know nothing.

“One more of them

is all I need to know,”

You whisper, with an

upward glance, expecting

a nodded agreement.

I know this man

lost at 4th and Temple.

The beautiful, blue-eyed

baby boy he once was.

The man below the

surface of the

situation you now see.

And I know

his mothers and brothers

and levels and levels

of others who know

the beauty he has held.

Now they hold him.

Not in their arms,

but on the silent

breath of tears and prayers.

For the baby who

once was and the man

below the surface

who still is.

Even as he struggles,

lost at the corner

of 4th and Temple.