the news boy

when you were a boy,
you left the house before
dawn.
the dog with you.
a wagon
creakily being towed
by your thick coated
arms
and gloves.
the papers were on the corner
six blocks away.
no cars.
no noise, no sound at all.
just you
breathing. the bright
stars
more brilliant than you've
ever seen before or
since then.
for an hour you'd circle
the neighborhood
and throw the folded
batons
of news to each porch.
the dog
moving beside you. knowing
when to stop
when to go.
not a soul around.
the bloom of your breath
a cloud
in your eyes.
it was dream like, this work.
this silent
walk through a different time.