daydreams of summer winds perish,
suffocated by a new dawn rising
and deceptive eyes on tomorrow's turnstile.
I sit on the low end of an idle seesaw,
in an open field of chance, searching
for a piece of yesterday in today.
spirits wander, but where do they go,
when eyes close to fading light.
beyond fields of stone,
beyond cloud walls of separation,
where the vacant eye is gatekeeper
of the little black book of poems,
empty pages of a virtual world,
where the fiery yolk circles
inside white days, before I become
white-collar choked into wakedness,
squandering confessional words.
I sit on the low end of an idle seesaw,
the future keeps getting closer,
ghost whispers fading.

©2007, Robert Savino

Robert J. Savino is a native Long Island poet and long standing board member of Island Poets. His poems have been published widely, in print, from The Long Island Quarterly to the Haight Ashbury Literary Journal, as well as online in Poetry SuperHighway. Two of his poems appear in our other seasonal anthologies: “October’s Opal” is in the autumn collection, and “Shortcut Through the Storm” is in the winter collection.

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