roger singer | with song | the air of her


The notes rattled like chains in his head;
souls marching, singing the pain
of long days lost to labor
and another man’s dream.

Tears jaggedly cut over dusted cheeks
coursing rivers equal with oceans
when added together for years lost.

Dust and sand kick up from under
the shoes of the man who sings a
working song.


Others punish the air, kicking it about,
filling corners with unfulfilled oaths,
speaking names of the dead,
cursing the living.
Unlike the bitter crust of them,
she pulls the air to her
like a beach welcoming a wave
or a child surrendering to sleep.
Once inside her, the air expands
into a brilliant glory of being found,
roaming freely in the halls of her beauty;
the depth of an earthly heaven.
From corners shadows resign.
Streams of hope fill spirits of loss.
Her air brought change to jazz.

Leave a Reply

This site uses Akismet to reduce spam. Learn how your comment data is processed.