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The dreams we had back then
When the world was a game of stickball
Won with a home run hit out of a parking lot
And the ball ending up on the neighbor's roof;
Or riffs of air guitar
Mimed in our bedroom closet mirrors,
Barrels of monopoly money
And match box cars;
Now they all seem like planes
Flying out of the frames of windowpanes
Back in the old neighborhood.
But all these years
Later, we still wake up
To cups of coffee
Conjuring a life
Lived out on the balconies
Of the old, grande hotels
On windy mornings
When the wind takes us away
To Monaco, Villefranche
Or St. Tropez
Where we dream of getting rich in the stock market,
Picking out the winning lottery ticket
Or the winner of the Kentucky Derby
On Derby Day.
We always seem to be in the impossible dream
Of kids walking through the looking glass
Into Wonderland,
Or vagabonds going on a treasure hunt
Somewhere on the Silk Road
Out passed Samarkand.
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