on the bottom, looking up into gauzy folds of water, feeling pressure on my chest, securing me within this green blue garden where light is absorbed above into waves passing overhead, unobstructed, as I observe the other side of looking down
morning on the eyes breathing without trying, feet to the floor, a moon landing arriving, stretching like canvas dried in the sun watercolors of the room observed the mirror of truth exposes the shades of a face preparing to change washing and then leaving
Discovery of voice A print of oneself Black and white photos The shape of us Multiple shades and shadows Memory reflections Voices in the wall Reappearing seasons Reality to fiction Mirrors mark time Searching for the edge Discovering the unexpected One more length to go Prayers answered The other side
past the breath of consciousness and common sense past the counter and the yellow line they stand comparing watches, sunglasses and hats, posing, checking the curves at the mirror for show, and what shouldn’t, voicing opinions to the beat of groans and moans, becoming bored they file out laughing at nothing
forgiveness looks back from the mirror with half smiles, like the lesser wings of angels it’s the time lost, the unscheduled acts of life, trapped in water, with the allure of youth washed out in scars and wounds wrinkles unstoppable speak a visible war of seasons in constant forward motion … More A MIRRORS VOICE
a full moon exposes the rugged skin of a meadow a storm dead tree paths grown over broken stone walls as the wind speaks a disturbed language punishing ghosts and beating gravestones on a night overshadowed by a black cat and broken mirror magic
I felt the water clock hold sentence over me. Dribbling out good, bad, indifference and sincerity. Its pendulum was silent, though refreshing me with reminders like a mirror reflecting the truth. Every experience has weight; the winning, losing, success and luck. We balance them until it tips. The result of results are unspoken for. … More END AROUND
We are fleeting reflections in the stream of air rushing over us. We hear and feel the song of time; the metronome counting minutes, becoming years. We see our image, the branch of a greater tree; its roots mark a beginning of a not so distant past. There is a failing as we grow; … More MOVING FORWARD
Mirrors spy on the eyes, drawing them to the vortices of reflection; celebrating the good, condemning the faults. Each glance a smile or frown, changing the weather of the heart into storms or sun; the soul of self, shoulders up to the day. Like the surety of high winds aloft the image we see is … More MERCY
Roger Singer 