He Dreams of Brake Drums and Gears

The sky sits
watching as stars tick
threaded lines through fabric.

Somewhere in Botswana,
an old man is sleeping simply,
dreaming of brake drums and gears.

His knees scratch the bedpost
hard as cement,
fingers ache
from the turning and proding
of engines and rods.

He floats within himself.
Drifting through diesel,
he dreams of standing
before a car,
"What sound is it making when it stops?"

There, in his dream,
he is finding and mending
the beautiful machine
His fingers twitch without pain.
He smiles in the warmth of his labor.