Roger Singer

 

 

 

 

I’m living out the words from today,

stretching the soul of meaning,

wringing out the moisture from

afternoon rains and storms.

 

I remember the winds roughing up

my hair, combing it into a mess,

lifting off a few springs to tumble

after green leaves and a few branches.

 

…..and the light, electric humid shocks,

fingers of blue and white cutting into

black air like icy fern crystals

breaking above me joined by

repeating bull whip thunder snaps

forcing my fragile courage indoors.