"Idle Seesaw" by Robert Savino

Even with Mother Nature's mixed summer bag of weather, our garden flowers have had some spectacular moments that Jordan took the time to capture for me so I could share them with you:

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.