Charcoal thoughts spill across
river deep eyes.
The flow of strong vision grasps at
the promise of angels
with empty pockets.
Whispers lift into voices, like ribbons
trailing behind youthful smiles and hope abounding.
A song rises into a chorus of winds,
spreading out like well worn paths.
Time releases the face of change. The sameness
wrapped in black and white. The start of stopping
and the joy of change.
Roger Singer 