The Man

It’s only a dream but keeps coming back    

a highway ticking off concrete slabs

the man steps in     three saplings in his fist

four thousand miles from Casablanca

banyan trees     a forest in his sack

he hasn’t smiled for a decade

do you know the way to Casablanca  I ask    

he tries to speak     he rounds his lips

then something heavy falls this way   

I crumble to earth

snowflakes cover my broken limbs

he tells me to listen to the motor’s hum:

toora loora looral     snowflakes cover my eyes

toora loora looral     I try to smile