The room filled dark with twists
where shadow vapors of crossed arms and
legs on a wall flashed under
low beamed lights
capturing a motion of souls bathing warm
like angels walking over clouds
high above an earth beat
of rotating
full sounds until the moon rises
pressing out the cold with voices
melting into sweet savor over
the tan and white, short and tall
all blended into the soup of it
where lean and long notes
brush with nourish the willing
the hungry while silver shoes
and magnolias sweat out
a healing, running hard
and one step ahead of the
devil.
Roger Singer 