I Don’t Know His Name
I have a friend;
I don’t know his name
He tells me stories of a life long-lived
Sleeping for centuries and traveling far off plains
He tells me of love and adventure
And of kings, art, moons arising
He speaks in song and rhymes
He always wears his Winnie the Pooh beanie
I stumble upon him sitting outside Mollie Stone’s
He knows me and I him
I see him, unexpectedly; a surprise of sorts
I see him when most needed, perspective waning
For a second, during our time
There are no classes, no culture war
“Did I tell you my poem about music?”
“I want to hear it again.”
I hand him a five for his artistry and proceed
Marinating in the words he gave me
I have a friend;
I don’t know his name
Powerful,Lovely!