Roger Singer

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Somewhere

between the

sleep of death

and breath

of life

I linger within

when my eyes

like yours

close for day

and open

for night

in blackness

deep where

sounds are

crushed into

voices and

faces twist

into paintings

of who I

know or

who I’ve seen

when my

eyes drink

of sleep.