Spellbound, I’m found,
deposited beneath the azure blue sky.
Stripped bare, lying here,
Grieving the crimes of malted Rye.

(I had this dream years ago. I was reminded of it today)

I dreamt that it rained.
Down the city street past Kathy's door,
Along the illuminated storefronts.

There was a hum in the chilly air,
in the California Dew, I stopped.
To stand under a lamp post.

'I'm singing in the rain
Just singing in the rain
What a glorious feeling...'

Gene Kelly, full of life and melody,
spun around the lamp post,
and kissed my cheek.

A simple figment
lost in a toolshed
oft times tinkled
with broken appliances.  

He manipulated
rusted design
to his fancy,
breathing second life
into misfit *******.

The elusive wisp
dressed in split fingernails
and knotty knuckles,
as lore foretold.

I have heard your voice many times,
Intimately and distantly.
Never mine and always close
As a whisper in my ear.