is a perfect flower opening with morning stretching, reaching, designing moments achieving success fulfilling needs, desires, preparing to create protecting, supporting this day this evening until night when resting dreams stir them without our permission
on the other side of time, the area between is crowded with shadows, broken promises and the right to be understood as changes occur like the flow of clouds, nameless, but important, almost enough to break into the blues like reliving the history of each year, after the first breath of morning as day passes … More ALMOST
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
an image within a song showing up before you arrive appearing bigger in the eyes of yourself and where you are on a front porch as a door opens like the words you push in the swing at days end and a front light forming a circle where dew and toys share space … More CLIMBING THE MOON
all roads lead from me, long spaces for nights blessings and mornings light as new beginnings stir the senses into full blossomed roads, where no choice is wrong, full of miles, waysides and memories
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
words slip through boundaries of light and shadow between fences posts past sleeping cats words are strength from imagination fathoms words become whispers in night promises in morning begging hurting believing following into dreams yet to appear
I’m on my own line there’s no sideways just the only road I know a nameless opening to slip through the green grass on the other side is well past and without flavor to remember and faces forgotten night rest now comes easy
The vanity of the ground was altered by a morning rain. the meadow trembled under the wetness pulled from the sky a linen gray horizon without sound slept overhead.
she holds close the pain careful not to break it like a hunger she feeds it in morning speaking to it at night grieving flows within watering the splinters of thoughts embedded in memories helping her is not easy when the voices attack me I know she’s still alive inside when … More THE VOICES
Roger Singer 