Is He Truly Homeless?

He walked and looked at watercolored skies,
untainted unlike his heart that was black,
Blacker than any Starbuck's coffee any human has had uncreamed...
He thought he was lucky when he bathed in the sun,
Mornings are a pleasure to welcome even if, yes, even if sad and lonely 
His eyes cried as he walked passed indifferent souls in the street,
Who's colder, winter wind or this man without a coat?
And yet,
He smiled, so agreeable that
his eyelashes struck the rooftop of his eye
and the tears jumped out the balcony of his unshaved face, 
the water let him see again...more road, more opportunity
He admired the dry-sand-looking concrete,
He sighed of happiness, he could move 
Time welcomed him to life but things went awry,
He only has the ocean as a friend,
a good friend that listens and listens 
and kisses your feet
with warmth and gratitude
He looked up again to see the smiling sun,
who's demeanor is always perfect and kind,
saw a million birds of many types-
From the begging pigeon to the loud-mouthed seagull
How grateful he was to see that their simple life lead then to fly-
Could he ever fly? Did he ever fly?
"To reminisce," his heart warned,"is to pinprick a water balloon.
You can't climb those stairwells without falling."
And he answered,"I have tarred my old ways, I have left that man 
I barely know...I can cry from my lugubrious ways, nothing can 
change that. I will find comfort in my memories because that is all 
I carry, they are my Sequoias on those unwelcomed hot days
when I burn."
He trudged so far, that his body fell like a cala lilly
on the soft grass where his mind began to unwind like origami,
"How beautiful it is to live and play back any moment of your life,"    
He said. 
He breathed slow, like the movement of a Submarine underwater,
and he appreciated his lungs enough to put his hand on top his chest.
Cloudy days, rainy days, hot days, this man was so alive
So amazing, he knew how to remove the rust from anything,
He'd rather smile than frown
Rather cry happy than weep alone....
He again saw the half sunflower of a sun,
he waved goodnight with his arms as he sat Indian style.
"Night," he speaks, "turns my eyes into buckets of heavy flowing water.
I wake up drenched from my fear. My memories are faded denim and they
keep washing away. They are a dying cornfield, 
plagued by age and dementia."
He reviewed his body and saw that it was a walking miracle,
yes right there in the park, on the grass,
in the night, alone....he concluded if there are summer thunderstorms,
and nothing happens but me getting wet, 
I will make trials and tribulations ginger to the palate of my soul.
Have them refine me, rewrite me, as good as new!"
He knew he has found a truth as beautiful as the scene of a hummingbird,
and he knew he could not loose it; even if his child-like appprehension 
grew to the size of the Egyptian pyramids, 
he would stand like a Kodak bear and roar, 
be still like a lion and run face first.
As he ends up in a 24 hour diner, 
he realizes he found home in his experiences.