One Poem by Roger Singer

Night River

A river rolled into the chest
of nighttime; wide blankets on
a bed of sand. Its name means
nothing to it.

A tree swept by storms floats
dead; an undisclosed path.
Crooked roots weep for
passing shorelines. Bark, soaked
with defeat.

Rushing eddies swirl at the
elephant base of bridges; an
obstinate monument against flow.

A car, high above;
headlights bleed into night.
Quickly fading.
The river, unimpressed,
sweeps on.

{Poem by Roger Singer}