Keeps a foolish heart hidden in a tabernacle of pride. Father taught you to acknowledge pain but endure. Mother fed you from her soul, let you taste a joy never again to behold.

The last time you dreamt, another president held office. Trains still passed through mountains. There was a river filled with light. A woman held your hand and gave sweetness to the night.

Believe what  you want in the humid mist beneath a starless August sky. Good luck comes in threes. Bad luck comes in droves. Must still be trains somewhere and a river nearby.


Copyright 1996 by TIMOTHY HERRICK



A prose poem from the archives.  . I am posting this on the website for Dylan’s 75th Birthday – 5/24.