I dreamed about your father,
you and me on a streetcar,
gummy floors of hot
black foam, soft between
the shiny skids,
not knowing what to do,
get off, sit down,

nor who should know.
He looks from me
to you, you look at me
and out the window
I can see the red rock
hillside and the streetcar
seeing us seeing us,

and his hair is high
and white and he implores
us with his eyes,
you with his eyes,
mind, and heart,
and wonders where
to lead us or be lead,

while you and I
and he roll up
the red rock side
within the green
and gummy dreamcar
without asking
or knowing.