The Great Fortnight of the American Dream that took place in all the little towns I never heard of, all gone now, in all the corner stores and especially the Greyhound stations and trainyards of Middle America passed by while I slept in the bed my Momma made for me, and I never loved anyone else, who else was there to love? That's why I never let my heart leave and that's what I told everyone and myself, that there's nothing out in this great big world that's as beautiful as home and a mother that you'll never forget, and really what's in my mind is the sentiment of the whole thing, a great nostalgic yearning to go back. Back home, where the nights become hopeful and will seem magical eventually, fictitious in my mind, but by then they'll be gone, and every time I go outside I see that big full-bodied, glowing moon staring me right back into the night and I wink right back at it because it was only ever a comfort. It was especially a comfort to that beautiful Homeward Angel who wanders through this town quietly and alone while we catch glimpses of him through our windows and wonder, "Where's he goin' at this time of the night?" He's so alone that that great yearning inside to hit the road comes out a little bit in every one of us that sees him, and maybe for a minute we thought we'd keep him company. A few of us tried but mostly we just watched as he passed our houses one by one, on foot. And by the time the ones that wanted to follow him had packed up and left he had already passed through, but it didn't matter because we all knew he was perfectly content, all quiet and alone, just to be going home. And I, who sat in the baseball field of my youth, wanting to be nothing but a quiet peace talkin' hunchback in the corner exuding nothing but thoughts of peace was interrupted by the noisy little singin' birds who I always think are singin' for me - there's no one else to hear! But what's more important is that these fields will remain loved until dreams cease to be - and what's more when these memories die they'll live in another child endless as all and the night - at the different lives blinked away by the night, these fields and time thought too, like an old man - and I couldn't force myself to leave like some pull at the center of my me - and I could see the saintly little robin on the bench was keeping me company enough and I said to myself, "If I could only understand that now is forever just like this..."
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