Blandly mother 
takes him strolling 
       by railroad and by river 
—he’s the son of the absconded 
       hot rod angel— 
and he imagines cars 
       and rides them in his dreams, 

so lonely growing up among 
       the imaginary automobiles 
and dead souls of Tarrytown 

       to create 
out of his own imagination 
       the beauty of his wild 
forebears-a mythology 
       he cannot inherit. 

Will he later hallucinate 
       his gods? Waking 
among mysteries with 
       an insane gleam 
of recollection? 

       The recognition— 
something so rare 
       in his soul, 
met only in dreams 
       —nostalgias 
of another life. 

A question of the soul. 
       And the injured 
losing their injury 
       in their innocence 
—a cock, a cross, 
       an excellence of love. 

And the father grieves 
       in flophouse 
complexities of memory 
       a thousand miles 
away, unknowing 
       of the unexpected 
youthful stranger 
       bumming toward his door.