More than Myself ( after Anne Sexton )

A certain charm adorns    
a gutter, you see its potential
when it becomes home;  
rat breath inhaling your own—    
silence louder than death  
when that last dumpster slams shut.    
Decay is a familiar thing  
to the homeless—    
larger than life curling up    
inside their brick tomb at three AM.    
Hopelessness seems synonymous    
with vagrancy—    
our eyes squint through the dark  
at lumps of coal bodies, solid  
in earthly presence;  
yet, distant in spirit— as stars    
existing somewhere above smog.    
They are more than myself    
these beings    
in their capacity to survive.  
Fallen, impoverished Gods;  
angels among us unawares—    
weighing the balances    
to find us wanting  
in our capacity to love.    
~    
   
#AnneSexton