The drifter took shelter
in honeycombed cardboard,
drew knees to chest and slept
on salvaged egg-crate foam.
Impressions of his boots
like deep quotation marks
in icy snow could tell
the curious his hutch
was nestled among firs
and camouflaged by lush
needles, scent redolent
as incense, of comfort
perhaps to young hikers
who found him at first thaw,
a woolen scarf sheathing
his perfectly blue face.
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