Sleeping Rough Poem by Graham Leese

Mud begins to grow
Its skin again; the pools
Of silver reflection
Collecting like the dead
Leaf freckles on her snow
White skin.

Frost bites at her eyes like rain
From a summer storm- viewed
High from a weathered mountain.
Frailty trapped inside glass pupils,
Lies entangled in a poisoned glade.

Looking through her broken breath,
Recycled like the oppressively
Clean cuts of calm; you can just
Make out the faint sound of sirens-
A few streets away.

Drifting through the 6am desolation;
Beside cats waking from underneath cars
And rust ridden birds feeding their young
She walks a crisp and void trail,
The December air slicing her faded cheeks.