Breathing into a magnolia sweet evening
a cello weeps from an apartment;
late persistent summer clouds
flatten under an orange-blue horizon.
The air divides as the sound walks over
tired curtains and past yellow chipped paint,
descending to an alley absent of life,
canvassing
garbage cans and locked back doors.
A hallway fills with music like an incoming
full moon tide,
wetting cracked tiles and stained walls.
For a moment the city releases from loss
as the strings from the cello
bridge us to a place of
calm waters.
Roger Singer 