No Reason

For no apparent reason,
a man wearing a black beret
stands on a corner.
Out of nowhere,
a tiny red ball
comes towards him.
He catches it in his right hand,
a simple receiving of all the joy.
The ball contains the dreams of a small boy:
ant farms,
pennies in the dirt,
the very best rocks,
and the wonder of birds’ nests.

He once carried eggs in his back pockets,
but the garden gate slammed on his rear.

Now
he collects dreams in songs:
stories of rivers containers for tears powerful as rolling thunder

The dreams of the musician are
crooked recollections of past lives,
and red rubber balls and the vibration he uses
to put the world in his pocket.

Darcy Falk
August 25, 2003