a little song for sugar cubes

he comes limping to my yard
with a mouth full of dreams

speaks of the dappled milkhorse
our ghost in the town square

the milkman had a blind daughter
he tells me this

her eyes were the blue hymns
of morning glories

where she walked
the stones wore purple

where she danced
the lightning split the elms

that was a long time ago he nods
I ask him where the years went

he smiles at the beauty of it
the angels opened a door he says

—From The Chinkapin Oak, 1995