The song. Unaffected.
Opens like spring. Formed
from vines grasping at the
answer to words. Rhythms
without explanations. A
sense of beauty, full of
individual reason. A flag of
intention. A banner to gather
voices rising for the occasion.
Full verses. Empty hearts.
A recipe of melancholy. Winds
ebb in favor of voices. Hands
raised. Rooms full of faces deep
into night. Applause for the end.
Last curtain. Deep breath. Cold
evening. Warm thoughts.
lingering passages. Smiles for
no reason. To home. To bed.
Silence for the moment.
Roger Singer 