In the presence of magnolias
in full bloom
as silver fingers of moss
sway warm with summer,
voices exchange hearts
under the light
of a talking moon.
Clouds have long folded into
nothingness.
Soft aromas flood the thoughts.
A coolness settles on the skin.
The upside of bats turn angles
into artwork.
A fine dew sugars the grass.
A song nearby brushes the air
with rhythm.
Roger Singer 