the bones of words
remain behind
like rumpled sheets
without memory of sleep
as day tosses
a mixed salad of walking
and arriving
the hours melt into
the water of day
time slows for
anxious eyes
while rain marks windows
and umbrellas below
splashing on buses
sizzling off neon’s
coats of color
weave upstream
in each direction
its calming to watch
until thrust into it
Roger Singer 