A night song drifted past
weeping mid-summer magnolias
as it marks a pathways thru cool pockets
of air to an opening
where voices shadow whisper
weaving end day stories
to capture hearts.
Midnight calls without alarm.
Time has no respect. A crescent moon
finds space between passing clouds. The field
receives a carpet of silver. A slight breeze
rustles treetop leaves. The clouds close
the gap. The field turns black.
Night regains control.
Roger Singer 