GRAVEDIGGERS soft dirt foot print on a fresh grave, a death bed of brown earth and a few small stones, shovels lean on a wooden shed where inside two men play cards, soiled fingers sweaty shirts the odor of work in their hair, they snort and spit rising slowly cursing the heat and … More GRAVEDIGGERS
he sits, sipping his tea on a porch before meadows and mountains familiar to his voice and supplications, under stars and bright sun, considering dreams, some real some reminders of a good life with songs brightly sung and poetry, the puzzle of words, that some plainly grasp, but for a few, the message remains deep … More CLEARLY
pressed under dunes are ancient paths, rocks and skeletons lying beside evidence covered and then recovered, preserving the voices where they remain absorbed within disorder and perfection, uncaring of seasons, while forever protected within ancient layers
he sees ghosts and speaks to clouds while sneering menacingly at people and dogs church bells nearby ring out praise and guilt clouds knit together, breezes circle salvation walks backwards sometimes retrieving the innocent while rejecting the poor
we stand under a moon gazing upward at its silver face from our earthly spinning diorama of cities and oceans where we silently gather, leaning on the uncertainty of our place, questioning without answer, the miracle suspended in a dark sky
what to tell the moon while untangling knots of words as they become hosts of vapors rising from candles on the cake, releasing wishes from past silver nights and quiet steps joined in same direction
his face, locked in the evidence of a traveled soul inner sufferings surfaced as disturbed currents threads from his past acted as an anchor, pulling him back from the edge of his unknown parts
the eyes shut from exhaustion, releasing spirits from the darkness to war within, flashing concussive images, angled blinding lights and drums beating in dramatic fashion, anguished rhythms of air from my lungs, far from the innocent shoreline of sleep I once knew
meditation under clouds, eyes reaching upward looking for an angel and a miracle in the breeze, whispering a birthday wish while waiting for its release, and chances are, the belief will settle within, like a candle protected from winds of change and seasons yet
for the wish tomorrow, softly released as day shelters behind night approaching, pushing curtains aside exposing warm spaces of patience and belief within a cloud body of words held tightly within the secret soul
Roger Singer 