My blood is dirt.
Open crushed ground of footprints.
Songs filter through ages of gravel,
into stories, forming well worn paths.
Ancient voices.
Father’s I never knew.
Messages on stone;
the year of coming
and then the last.
Brothers, sisters,
the images continue beyond
the stone,
covered below in dark and dust.
We are planets and then stars,
then forever lights someplace.
Roger Singer 