A frothy moon and planets wagon deep
As lights slowly lifted on Browns Hotel
And Dylan leaning there over an ale,
Eyes black as coal from an eternal sleep.

"Listen," he said, "Some soberly advice,
Heavy liquors for the screaming banshees,
Avoid the depth charge of double whiskies,
Essentially, its a matter of price."

The vision faded out to closing time
And the hours peddled a bike down the lane,
The sound of glasses and talk receded.

Awakened now by warblings of a plane
Through embankments of cloud into sunshine,
I thought of his tours, how Caitlin pleaded.