on the shore

just a half block
off 5th
avenue, west,
the long box has a man
inside.
a ragged coat
around him
a red pillow
to comfort his furry
head.
washed up to
his own kingdom on
the shores
of wealth.
he's under the black
stone,
the granite,
the building that rises
a hundred floors
or more
above him.
he sleeps, he wonders.
he looks out
at his change filled
hat, caring little
if there's less,
or more.