Dreams Conquering Yesteryear

While sitting at a bus stop,
waiting,
dreaming,
he wanders in and about old addresses,
still trying to keep the past…
only the past.

Even with his ubiquitous dark glasses
worn everywhere,
day,
night,
even sleeping,
the neon-lit past
insists on staying
the past.

Sometimes in his daylight dreaming,
the beds are unmade,
still warm to the touch
yet, the bodies maintain back to back always,
never facing each other.

Occasionally…
his hallway night light
peers from the floor
like smiling Cheshire cat eyes in the fog.

Dare he venture further into midnight kitchen trips
where a faucet drips—‘til turned off,
a refrigerator hums—‘til doors are pulled open
and slammed.

Quite often…
he stumbles into old school days tardy,
where few seem to acknowledge him,
where he sits,
adjusts his dark glasses,
remains sequestered
and invisible.

Usually…
The movie house in his smiley dream
affords him laughter
with old grainy cinema of his insistent past,
the carefree times of youth dancing absently
through funhouse reflections of silly freedom,
film scratches and spliced together breaks
making memories perpetually real.

Never…
do his nocturnal ventures bring him
face to face with the him of his yesteryear reality.

For…

Here, the warrior of extraordinary hope
leaps over obstacles and burdens,
always aware the weight of hope’s baggage
remains feather light, unattached,
floating behind as but shadow,
willing to remain patient in the light.

Always…
he looks forward to this quiet time,
the often long wait to realize
his transport to everywhere.