In my office I sit
Watching the sky
Through the row of
Plant lined windows
Near the ceiling.
The clouds scuttle by
On high atmospheric winds
Left over from the weather
Of this morning.
I imagine
I can hitch a ride on one;
Where would I go?
What would I see?
Would I ride all the way
To the ocean?
Or would the ride end
In a fog bank
Atop the mountains?
Then the clouds clear,
The phone rings,
And reality returns,
But a part of me
Remains one in flight
With the racing clouds.
David Hightower’s lyrically expansive meditation on the whims of fate and the unpredictability of the human condition fill the pages of THE HANGING MAN DREAMS with thrilling music and mesmerizing imagery. Hightower’s richly infused voice echoes the e
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