Living in a cardboard box,
Rain taps out the rhythm of a broke-down clock,
Neon saints on liquor-store glass,
Bless the nights that forgot to pass.
I fold my dreams to fit the seams,
Of flaps that close on crowded streets,
Still hum her name through cracked concrete—
It echoes off the dumpsters, sweet.
King of nothing, crown of frost,
But every sunrise feels like trust,
Paper walls, cathedral tall,
I kneel in light that’s wide enough.