morning breezes carry the keys of day as tides mark the hours and sun creates shade on everything during the current solstice or equinox reminding the short minded, those lacking patience while standing at their edge of their faint hope, summers are fleeting, but memories are forever
weathering is an expression of time displayed, faded paint like aged skin a balding roof front porch chains minus a swing, a three legged chair an unhinged screen door windows without glass spider webs and vines weeds and the wild reclaiming what once was alive
rainy city gray on gray black streets clouds pressed low shoulders in the mist each puddle a fluid fingerprint reflecting jagged photos of windowed people and overbearing buildings
surrounded by a skeleton of trees a shudder of wind reveals gravestones of buried souls scattered ashes and dust of heroes and villains tossed together into a gathering of memories where wings and whispers sleep along side of unpacked dreams
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
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 see a remembrance shadow in most places catching my breath holding me hostage to the step, the sound familiar, unchanging from the before and the after, moving within the circle, smoothly rolling under stars and smiles from a moon as I walk into night quiet
it fell from me a cut within, opening, releasing past spirits onto crossroads of unusual travel, past side streets and alleys leaving behind distressed wreckage and unexplained endings where the brave and exhausted eventually meet
words I know falling on me from clouds and infinity skies like blizzards of fire or moonlit letters of shadowed memories flowing down reminding, slipping within morning and evening buried in the breath under every sun and moon recalling the moments never to return
Roger Singer 