we stand under a moon gazing upward at its silver face from our earthly spinning diorama of cities and oceans where we silently gather, leaning on the uncertainty of our place, questioning without answer, the miracle suspended in a dark sky
eyes of clouds watched over me in faintest of darkness or summer shoreline, on equal or unequal ground, beneath the place I stand, wondering upward where currents swirl unnoticed above me as I glance into a vapor face passing without voice like the dreams I know in the invisible
rivers of thoughts are words reacting in a struggling orbit, encouraging the moment to go into the wind, not fight it while digging deep but not too deep, within the chest of your earth as it expands then relaxes, creating pause, while holding back like the patience of an insect, jumping or flying only … More SYMPHONY
he stretched to the moon his hand, fingers pointing into unknown fathoms with an ethereal line breaking beyond gravity and limits as he stood on the soil of his part of the earth looking up into the dark and black tempting, taunting the distance from her to there in defiance
each year a roadside meadow bordered by stonewalls breathes a harvest of wild flowers and weeds sharing soil and space rain and wind seasons of change providing evidence of a glorious gift
darkness covers the linen of skin, folding over with day lost, the sky closes out the feel of sun warm breezes surrender to shadows replacing colors with a flat gray like layers of curtains, the first call of night leaning into stillness
dragging the hand through freshly tilled soil stirs silent spirits to life, encouraging a closeness a purpose of being as the hand passes through previous millennial seasons each with a message of endurance and promise, impartial to flowers or weeds for this year or next
the meadow absorbs a light morning rain breathing it out by late afternoon as I walk through with my arms extended vortices from rising vapors twist off the ends of my hands forming contrails drifting silently to the ground without any evidence as I reach the other side
we are water within a great river singular not yet seen we move in flocks and herds down roads climbing stairs to doors unfamiliar within a few there is a calling a message scrawled on the heart of a gift yet used we are a great rush of sound over … More RUNNING THE RACE
It’s the perfect part the best of day innocence unafraid and promises of gold I hear words in the wind inviting clouds form as the earth spins beneath me memories never expected to melt away remain safe still full of breath
Roger Singer 