Sometimes in the stillness of an early morning
much before the light is born
I conjure up within my head, a city:
tall buildings, hustling people, traffic sounds —
a city that I’ve been to —
perhaps a nonexistent city that my mind creates.

There is an urban man somewhere, I think
whose magic makes up country scenes —
who sometimes thinks of rolling hills
and pastures filled with cattle grazing —
groves of trees and wooded paths.

Some day we will meet
within a crowded restaurant
or we’ll picnic by a lakeside
and we’ll talk of how it feels to be
and how imagination helps as we grow older.
And we’ll exchange each other’s shoes.

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