Water. An ancient sound. A motion, falling, moving, Colliding, turning. A color with aroma. Bending in search of a lower level. Respecting the language of gravity, yielding to its pull. Shorelines hold back aggressive waters. Mountains remain safe. Valleys fear the worst. Rivers build like armies from the smallest of streams, following paths … More TURNING THE CORNER
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
I can hear the water clock. The liquid metronome of a dripping faucet. A distinct sound muffled into silence during the day of sounds. On the ceiling, the passing reflections of headlights from passing cars below crawls over the cracked plaster. A blinking neon pulses across the street, matching the faucet drips and then … More BETWEEN THE DRIPS
A wind in the water presses to the surface; currents turn circles in oceans. The paths of the ancients push dark waters aside as they pull from lands, meeting in the center. Bones rest deep in blue black sandy depths. The violets of eyes wilt, feeding the hungry and … More FATHOMS
A frontier of waves with form breasted my ankles with coolness borne from dark fathoms. Water and foam spread like dust on the shoreline where it flows blue and green over sand broken from ancient mountains. The aroma of tumbling water runs strong over me; a ripe fruit unchallenged. Threads of a blue heaven hold the … More CLEAN
Ancient muscles of water form the flow of rivers. Tumbling volume, surface clear while the deep black is a mystery of all things tangled. River banks stone or sand. Grand glacial monoliths sit submerged from sight. Trees lean to the water, the source of their roots. Heavy rains run the banks over. The teeth of … More A CALM DAY
Roger Singer 