gypsy notes a vagabond song refreshing, like spring rain, the fragrance rising from warm roads a moment alive sounds from angels a familiar language fluid and flowing a joyful expression breaking within the air circling like mighty winds striking solidly a message completed
on the crowded sidewalk he felt his hands were lost day was slipping silently into a breezy evening the aroma of salt air filled the pocket of his senses city lights robbed the glory of stars making faint a crescent moon he mumbled a prayer like church candles soul dripping … More SALT AIR
it begins to rain heavy without warning, an ocean of water descends from the sky stepping around broken glass in the gutter, reminds me of fallen stars and broken wishes I am soaked through, exposed, feeling shirtless as the cold clings to me water gathers then runs off abiding to gravity … More BROKEN WISHES
trellised words, vined thoughts, labyrinths watering misshapen clay under the eyes of what was hidden invisible, releasing messages from years, unstoppable, like the warmth of a calendar welcoming summer during the search for me
his dreams were on the tides of last nights warmth passing over horizons edge past blue diamond stars while the art of years speaks the color of words onto waves washed out never returning the same
the language of keys in the lock, an abrupt shutting signaling the adult force he opens a cabinet, the refrigerator mumbles a few words shuts the cellar door then moves with a slow steady gait, heavy and sure hands sliding over the walls by habit his shadow on the hallway … More HE WAS HOME
it was at the edge of horizons where eyes welcome a steady line of waves touching the senses, dripping from clouds hiding in shadows evenings and nights and familiar songs the years are unstoppable, a collection words, drifting in breezes but not forgotten
he patiently waits at the café, looking for her and then watches her approach, he thinks… there you are my other glove the shoe that fits the door that welcomes a shoulder waiting the glass half full the moon over waves footsteps together a dance a few whispered words the voice the memories … More AFTER MANY YEARS
I could see words drying on a line washed and dripping under a half sun, moisture fragrant pushed by midday breezes, forming a message of thoughts without speaking, yet resonating within the seed of understanding where the horizon gathers up the remainder of day pulsing with energy to finally set
the house was a fire of voices a child on the front porch sang a song about water and boats floor boards language inner travel from room to room burnt evening skies brushed the house with setting shadows as night breathes out a deep sigh of quiet
Roger Singer 