Beacon Street

I knew him once;
I seemed to know him less as I walked toward him.

 

He waved me over with a cold hand;
crawling ivy threaded between his fingers, nearly choking the welcome.
I knocked on his chest, but no one answered me;
I peered into his ear and saw nothing but black.
I turned him 'round and almost caught one of his eyes as momentum sent it rolling toward the window,
glinting with a wax thought that had long been entombed in the empty face.

 

I sank down on the step and watched clouds gather,
waiting for a flash, a blinding revelation to keep me from seeing 
that he
and his dream
were dead.

 

© 1996 KJL