There is no wrong side of the
river or the tracks; the sun and rain
blesses both side. Nickels and dimes
build into a wish. Lightening brightens
a dark road. A stray dog avoids strangers
and empty pockets. Trains own
their sound. At the end of the line it
coughs up the last of weary travelers.
A horn plays the heart of a song
without words. Sidewalks and buildings
once there, now empty lots, hold the
flat of nothing. Sleep breaks into morning
without regrets, leaving behind wrinkled
sheets and unfinished words. Leather
jackets and warm motorcycles ride long to
the next corner and the next.
Every city has a dream.
Roger Singer 