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The homeless are invisible, part and parcel of the concrete in a city. The homeless may have nothing – no material possessions, no bank accounts, no postal zip codes, not even a birthday they can now remember (or maybe, they do) … but surely, they have dreams as they sleep, same as you and me.

I have taken the title for this post from Karen Elaine Spencer’s project on the homeless in Montreal, Canada.

Visit http://67paintings.com/2013/01/ to follow through on this piece.

See Karen’s work here:

http://likewritingwithwater.wordpress.com; http://dreamlistener.wordpress.com

 

Driving through the city

You never see them.

The homeless, they are the faceless.

They apportion the invisible

Between the street and themselves.

 

But today, as I drive in and out of humming

web of streets I know well, they become visible.

The homeless:

rising greyly from a sidewalk that has

always been there,

resurrecting at a shrub-hid corner I have

made countless passes of,

and there,  a child darts

across the mad street….

 

Where will they sleep, I wonder,

and what will they dream of?

The invisible must also dream dreams –

even if those dreams are images on water,

 

Where I am is not who I am…

The smell of fresh sheets, a fresh meal,

and all the sounds of a home freshly made

are mine –

A little tired today, I am…

so, I will let the sounds float over me as

the work day greys.

 

Where I am is not who I am…

 

[penned on a sunny January ’13  afternoon in Delhi]

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