A twist of air boldly pushes past
August light; a song of different color;
the end of summer.
Night air signals the aroma of change.
Cooler breezes mark time like a parade
turning a corner.
No wall of wishes prevents the rolling
pattern weaving around me;
I am a patchwork of sadness.
Sand and waves stand alone in winter,
absent of voices; time absorbs everything.
The nothing zone is the space
between summers.
Roger Singer 