shelter in the city
an old top hat tumbles
down an urban alleyway
one gray wintry night
a single boot and smile
stopping it in its tracks
held beneath a streetlamp
scratches appear in the
faded charcoal felt
each crooked line a story
in and of itself
silvery lining holds imaginary
tales of happenstance
and midnight waltzes
murmuring like a seashell
untouched for centuries
gloveless fingers slide across
bent brim collecting
snowflakes and glances from
all the homeless eyes
seeking cover for the night
february two thousand fourteen
copyright j matthew waters
all rights reserved