the words ceased
like the flame
from a candle,
once bright
now a line
of swirling
gray smoke
the silence between
them was unbalanced
resembling the
uncommon brick
on the wall
each soul
unprepared for
despair or a miracle,
summer or winter
but,
it was trenched
in cold,
the autumn of rain
numbing the skin
to separate paths
Roger Singer 