Poem: Passing Time (#4?)

Each day a year.
Dark mist-morning cold no sun:
Late Winter.
The Walk and Long Bus
across town, across years.
More walking as the sun starts
coming on strong.
The Coffee finally, amazingly good,
(though slightly less so every day)
maybe some writings.
Winter has passed
and the spring is here.
Walking I find popcorn in a bag
on the street: Brunch.

By afternoon it's scorching hot
and I've spent an hour in-line
at St. Anthony's Soup Kitchen.
More walking and I get
my first drink of the day
at a gas station.
It's almost Fall already
and the drink goes with Lunch nicely.
Wanting more, but not having money,
or energy,
I start my walk back towards the beach
where I hide my sleeping bag
and other clothes.

Making it to camp
the sun has finally set
and it is Winter again.
Warm in my sleeping bag,
under the trees,
smell and feel of Ocean on my face,
total darkness surrounding.

I feel very old,
like Shin-Lo, "The Mountain."
So named for his only movements
in ten years of constant meditation
were the paths carved in his cheeks
by the passage of his tears.

I pray to Shin-Lo
that my fate will be better.