The first flake.
An early storm onto green grass.
Remaining leaves flutter.
Cold stems hold to the past life
of a spring,
eventually surrendering to the last ride.
A single snowflake. A renegade.
A leader of many, accepting the weight
of gravity onto solid ground.
A wind song of flakes marvels a gray sky;
armies of white find final refuge
on earths carpet.
The dust is alive with earthly voices;
strong tides of courage, darkened
at the edges. Ocean waves sound out a
liquid sliding language.
Gravel faces, roughened on weathered
years, remind me of granite thoughts
now broken into sand.
We are mirrors of the past.
A collection of unshakable images
And shadows of resemblance.
We travel slowly and steadily
Roger Singer began writing poetry when he was in the military many years ago. He resides in New York.