Bowie came to me in a dream, when the icecream moon was outside my window. Low tide in the morning on my unmade bed. A soup can leviathan at the bottom of my heart. Bowie told me I owed it to the kids to keep the dream alive. At the edge of the city was the three chord hitch hiker. We sung our way across America. Bowie told me you reap what you sow. He’s glowing in heaven.