You Make Beautiful Things
Usually, I just pass by
with a glance, read their
life story without making
eye contact so my wallet
doesn’t feel sympathy,
but this time, his cardboard
sign screamed at my heart.
It was as if his soul breathed
hope onto what he wraps
himself in at night.
His cried out eyes
had a thick layer of
fog over the pupil,
nostrils were cracked,
wrinkles grinned
dog fur white.
Yesterday, in Palo Alto,
I gave a homeless man
money,
my freedom only
cost three dollars.
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