Gordon and Angela are sprawled out on the sofa,none on one side, one's head on the other.nAnd a boy stands in a doorway where a bedroom door stands open,nhe's saying things no one's awake to hear.nnAnd all the leaves outside are dying,nyou can tell that he is crying.nHe pulls on his parka, kisses them softly,ncloses the door, and he disappears.nOh...nnWhen he got back he knew so much.nLike the frozen swing set flowers, how they opened at his touch.nOr the many places favorite singers have been,nas favorite singers hardly understand.nLike singing kitchen floor requiems in northern or southern small towns,ntheir words and chords dripping through the cracks of my wet hands.nnBut I've just woken from a dream as beautiful, he said.nDad, please don't wipe the sleep yet from my eyes.nAnd though the colors are swirling, nand the whole world's coming back,nI will not shake those visions of July.