We are marked by our shoreline the footsteps left behind the ones dreamed of the seasons that began and others forgotten by choice tides washed us gently circling the waves never stopped synchronous beats smooth some troubled all beneath a humble moon
Sounds skipped over the gathering like flat stones over water. There was no right direction of movement. Fingers pointed. Eyes glanced. Footsteps clapped along equally out of sequence. The people resembled tall willowy weeds reacting to a brush of random breezes, swaying unevenly as they crossed the street to the other side; searching for closure … More FINISHING OUT
Roger Singer 