Boy on the bus
+ + +When he said Bible I heard his southern accentand he had a face I expect all pastors must havea round open honest facethat will always be a boy’s facethough its owner may rightly call himself a mannear my age though I hardly call myself a man
+I have seen this face before whether in life or a dreamI can’t tellif I’ve seen him on the street oncetwice who knows and his pastor’s moon facereminds me of somethingsome distant light my life used to own
+One night on my birthday the moon was so strong it cast shadowsI could see to the far hill and back it was all clear to me
+The moon hasn’t done that in a long timeits face has been obscured by clouds for weeksand that boy on the bus his face I’ve forgottenI thought I recognized a good number of peopleon that bus who I didn’t know at all
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