Rainy Morning Dream Song

My head
is full of places,
places I've been;
and faces,
faces I've seen. On
rainy misty mornings
like this one,
listening to Bach in the car,
I remember where they are
and who they were.

It's a different kind of travel,
unravelling a past,
exploring familiar spaces,
the pigeonholes logged and locked
in the recesses of a brain.

Children walk by, singing
It's raining, it's pouring,
the old man is snoring.

The rain continues to fall.

The memories pour out of me,
sing like children,
dream like the old man.