top pocket dreams,close to the heart, paper drop tears on unsent love letters as I look up from beneath at the crossroads of life, wondering from below the moving parts above, in the shape of shadows and whispers, while rose pedals and magnolias drip onto my shoulders with unexpected mercy, placing me within the … More MORE THAN A DREAM
the lost know how to be found they are the dust of failures and the chance for success they court the sun worship the moon and question the shadow following behind they hum an unfamiliar song remembering parts and the parts offered up for another try at something, anything
words on stone as angels pass over where clouds hold tight the soul of belief as winds push back and then forward to the promise at the highest point where air is fresh like cool water filling your spaces washing onto your shoreline the best of all parts
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
the last clouds of day are rooms over the ocean, curtains of moisture reabsorbed, exposing a a carpet of stars, glistening sweetness nourished by angels as we trespass beneath heaven
the gray of shadow light bending, fragments of words like wrought iron angel wings kneeling within a drizzle of mist surrounding trees shed of leaves, desperate against seasons strength, fail to retain the youth of spring and summers shade the moon rises strong, casting a glance over night
we are the leaves of autumns fall clouds watch over us with breezes shredding softly the passing of summer its more than words on paper as the voice within steps aside the unfamiliar and familiar while time and gravity bend the shadows we are haunted by
the café suspended strings of white lights, like stars pointing the way shadowed tables, people talking, whispering, listening, leaning inward for the words waiters in aprons angling between tables welcome aromas red cloth napkins, anxious expecting eyes waiting is the gift finally received
on the crowded sidewalk he felt his hands were lost day was slipping silently into a breezy evening the aroma of salt air filled the pocket of his senses city lights robbed the glory of stars making faint a crescent moon he mumbled a prayer like church candles soul dripping … More SALT AIR
the language of keys in the lock, an abrupt shutting signaling the adult force he opens a cabinet, the refrigerator mumbles a few words shuts the cellar door then moves with a slow steady gait, heavy and sure hands sliding over the walls by habit his shadow on the hallway … More HE WAS HOME
Roger Singer 