Under the Stars

Socially distant,
the poor guy
who slept under the stars

did not notice the crowd
out and about around town,
mask-less and gathering.

There was a voice in his head
and no shoes on his feet.

He did not dream
and if he did
many of them did not come true.

He did not count sheep.
All he seemed to do was
watch life and death passing by.

Luis lives in California and works in Los Angeles. His poetry has appeared in Blue Collar Review, The Dissident Voice, and Struggle Magazine. Read other articles by Luis.