between irregular smooth surfaces there’s a gray area like the space between butterfly wings, valuable and gifted, delicately curved, bending with motion, rejecting gravity while breaking the bonds of what holds us back
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
forgiveness looks back from the mirror with half smiles, like the lesser wings of angels it’s the time lost, the unscheduled acts of life, trapped in water, with the allure of youth washed out in scars and wounds wrinkles unstoppable speak a visible war of seasons in constant forward motion … More A MIRRORS VOICE
a thought of ink onto paper casual words in a half shell pushing out rain water from the past stories about stories some greater than before others weak or forgotten as more rain blemishes all it touches even the wings of angels who carefully listen
Roger Singer 