Our hope is only as strong as our shelter

The cruel April wind doesn’t howl.
It laughs at
his corrugated-cardboard hovel.

Dandelion-wine-stained walls groan
gloomy up against it,
as a cut-out flap flips to reveal
hums of empty space.

Cobwebs come
to what’s at rest. Here
the poorly grounded facts are:
scrambling,
scattered ash,
the misplaced and misspelled
scrawls he so feebly scratched out.

His paper-weighting
dance of two exposed knees
can't be crucial.

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Brenda Warren provided another Wordle prompt for National Poetry Writing Month (NaPoWriMo). You can see what others came up with for it here.