THE SONG I SING

the song that i sing
is no more than the sound
of old church bells gathering rust
in a junk pile
off old highway 99.
?

in these bone yards
vagrants huddle in lean-tos
made of broken plywood panels
while discussing the vaporization
of dreams. old tom-cats
howl at the moon. that too
is an echo of my songs.

& when morning breaks
between layers of fog,
she, also a dream never obtained,
dresses, watching the river
outside her study window.
she too is a whisper
of my songs.
?
?

2:15:99 Kenn Mitchell