it was at the edge of horizons where eyes welcome a steady line of waves touching the senses, dripping from clouds hiding in shadows evenings and nights and familiar songs the years are unstoppable, a collection words, drifting in breezes but not forgotten
the house was a fire of voices a child on the front porch sang a song about water and boats floor boards language inner travel from room to room burnt evening skies brushed the house with setting shadows as night breathes out a deep sigh of quiet
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
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
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
the energy of day resigns itself to evening thin shadows cast linen gray images onto sides of cottages and front porches the soil and trees release a tired breath as night occupies all spaces darkness closes day lilies, a reminder that time runs with us until it fails
seasoned arrows birthday candles flames highlight the years and passing shadows candles, joyous for children sensitive to middle age sentinel lights for the elderly a breath reduces the flames to smoldering wicks, a festive aroma encouraging smiles and other thoughts
Is it the end? such a distance form what was the beginning security stood close moving safely one way avoiding corners unknown shadows selecting carefully common welcomes now a glove is missing from the hand I knew remembering the avenues we walked under curved boughs in all seasons speaking softly … More THAT’S IT
when alone the only voice returning is an echo, the strangeness of a familiar chord to argue with, show sympathy to or scold each pause, no matter how uncomfortable, promotes an opening for rebuttal, the opportunity to gain favor between reality and shadows
subtracting the parts of day, the unfinished, early shadows, voices within, unanswered dreams, questions and morning coffee it’s a swim against the elephant no one talks about, hearts holding grief and half promises while speaking to the waiting arms of a soul who knows darkness comes first, and then the safety of night … More LATER THERE IS NIGHT
Roger Singer 