The strings of stars descend from
higher heavens where daydreams begin
and eyes are quenched with cool water
while songs sing of the forgets.
The black sphere above us holds the end
of something far greater than imagination;
wild orchids become lost on the canvas of
celestial darkness.
Gardens below sleep, breathing under closed petals.
Weeping stems lay to the side.
The arriving journey of the sun is nearby.
Roger Singer 