Fingertips of day are losing their grip. Pink horizons darken the sound of a saxophone fades. Stars poke through the black curtain like pinholes in the fabric of time, the moon hovers benign and besmirched its surface pocked and shaded.   Silence is golden.   But there will be no riches tonight screeching interrupts my ...

Rain falls creating Ripples in our childhood pond, Dark clouds block the moon Inside, I whisper your name, If only the rain were you