Ghost In the Clouds

I remember the two story frame house surrounded by a gold sea of wheat and the summer morning before the heat the sounds from the creek would be my rouse the sound of water running over rocks held no fascination as it ran it was the clinking sound of a tin can that made me run to the door with no locks the sound that came drifting up from the creek the sound of voices of just a few a kitchen match being struck on a shoe in the summer maybe just a week where do they come from and where do they go they don't live in a house like I've known they don't eat at a table in a home I don't question for fear they don't know I sit and listen for name of a town and highway numbers I hear them say and names of rivers a new one today I know there is much more to be found lying on our back we watch clouds roll by they seem to be more like puffs of steam going the same direction as the stream these people move like clouds in the sky suddenly I would stir and look about hearing my mother calling my name and just as before I've always came then one day so distant my mothers shout