An energy wind rolled over
gray stones and sand;
the spent blood of glaciers.
Dark waters, the fluid of night oceans,
reflects stars and a crescent cold moon.
The last of the clouds discharges a mist;
absorbed without voices into
horizons .
Heaven opens night’s gates,
releasing the locks of day,
casting down the warmth
where it folds onto lawns,
closing roses and spreading a blanket
of quiet over eyes.
Roger Singer 