A Bus Stop in the Rain

A night in which I could not feel the heat

of a bed so tender and soft as snow.

curled in a ball so I could touch my feet

on a step in the hall, dark and alone.

I woke to a noise most alarming and,

upon peering into the morning sun

watched you walk in with mail and keys in hand.

The misery of the dusk was outdone.

You spoke so harsh, both flame and ice in tone

left me in the rain to my own accords.

The summer I lost the meaning of home,

and found a family in these my words.

The Morning light, a bus stop in the rain

I shall never in life call home again.