I asked myself if these children dream the same dreams I do.
White Stallions

​
the children of the street
must see themselves
in the greasy puddles of the forenoon
in the sundown storefront windows
in the luster of the shoes they shine

must see themselves
in the reflection of a customer’s sunglasses
in the tears of the old women
in the shadow of the bus

the children of the street
must see themselves
flying purple kites on sunny beaches
dining with the family after church
riding white stallions

the children of the street
must see themselves
​




We get inspired by some things we remember, some things we forget.
Forgotten


I will always forget you
you’re the first person I forget
each morning and the last
one I recall at night

I will never remember you 
wearing that blue maybe green dress
walking you home from high school
joking about some mounted 
squirrels or perhaps rabbits
the laughing bowling alley windows
prospect     montgall     
agnes     bellefontaine
I forget each street by street
your whispering hair

why must I remember
your beagle named binky
or your beat cop father
charlie who drank too much
to forget to sleep

I can’t recall at all
who kissed who first
or was it whom
by the swings at brush creek park
in the light     in the dark    in the light

as I remember you were sunshine
on the lilac leaves the breeze
through those forget-me-nots
all that and so much less

imagine the number of times
I’ve forgotten every inch of you
discovering electricity over and over
just by touching you hand
your whispering hair
your eyes your name that smile
I forget it all 
as if it were only yesterday
and of course your whispering hair

there there don’t forget
it’s all forgotten
all forgotten now once more