I caught eyes with the man on the streets by T. William Wallin

I caught eyes with the man on the streets
 cracked weathered hands 
 beating upon the newspaper racks
 to no tune except for the symphony in his head
 he is lost from the looks of the external
 but internally he is calm and relaxed
 the headphones that he wears play no sound 
 only replaying voices and memories from another time
 something his mind is able to travel
 
 he people gazes and rests upon the press democrat box
 with style
 we catch eyes once again
 i have known this man before
 I have met him, but where and how
 most importantly why have I met him
 maybe upon the train track yards or saloons 
 around the dusty American dreamed towns
 desolate and forbidding to the common folk
 I have come across this street dwelling man before
 perhaps another life time 
 either past or future
 I have a common memory of this poor soul
 a soul with a heart that shines big wide eyes
 eyes that scream please help or talk to me
 but all the hip santa rosan residents
 with their fad haircuts and uncomfortable looking walks
 each step they take looks painful to the gut
 they all fly by with no care or even a wince
 as if he doesn’t exist in their world
 
 we catch eyes once more
 I know this man
 my eyes water up with tears
 I have put a pause on my American dreamed adventures
 I went too far down the road
 I was succumbed by the ugly side of rambling 
 and life and death gambling
 this man and I perhaps once played as children
 running in a field with no cares
 laughing as the prairie dog free among the prairies
 it is possible I saved his life
 it is more probable he saved mine
 somewhere down the road someday
 where the dust never settles in arm reach
 and the clearest visible sight
 is only what you can dream