a painted breeze seeps through the trees and whispers of its load fences awake no sound to make

a sound falls from forever to my ear a train across the trestle on the river you may listen

tracks into the night beneath the moon reveal no light reflect no pain

they trade their addictions for brass coins and coffee the saints’ names and numbers they tape

i was not a beautiful boy i was not an angry young man i am not

i am nothing i am no one a wisp of dream which never will come true distant thoughts

slipped stars crowd the evening full moon looking on aimlessly driving, caressing imploringly passion condenses on car windows

between the blades of summer grass where morning dew and spiders pass i left a dream that i once knew a vision of the green and you beneath the red and raisin clays

and i said goodbye to the crystalline dream whence i was a poet, and she a queen while the rest feel few

the electric motor spoke to me of fear of one known just by we as if the world could hear the dro… on hot summer nights