Russian Hill

by Andy Sturmer

I dreamt about a tranquil Sunday drive
A sensory lullaby
We trade the comics, cartoons, and magazines
For pistons and gasolines

We see the road from the bedside
Parked under the sunshine
We feel the warmth of the engine
So we climb inside
And take to the motorway

Watch the clouds turn into faces
It's fun to play
Shift the gears for years
And age a single day
Until we spill onto Russian Hill

Past cathedrals filled with God's favorite guests
Dirty hands feel clean
Dressed in their Sunday best
Treeline village, oh so heavenly
Cross a bridge of gold
To landscapes of juniper
Only Eden is for millionaires

I'm pulling through the last stoplight
We head home past the shoreline
And through the rear view mirror it all melts away
Till we're helpless

Watch the clouds turn into faces
It's fun to play
We shift the gears for years
And age a single day
For like curtains close this sunset matinée
A dream fulfilled on Russian Hill