I dreamt of my brother strumming a tune,
acoustic guitar on his knee–and singing.
His voice was so clear. The lyrics escape me,
except for the mention of God now and then.
He wore a knit shirt, long-sleeved, solid-colored,
and heavy dark-blue jeans, rolled up at the cuff.
Surrounded by children, silent and rapt,
scattered, akimbo–like leaves at his feet.
Very Pete Seeger. . . Not really his style. . .
But who knows what Heaven might do to a man?
