Circles

Circles

There are degrees of nearness
the sun no nearer to you
than I

or to them,

only the few feel the equatorial belt snap lashing;
their dry drought mouths, felt life more true than you- maybe,

because death was alway knocking on their door sardonically-
we only implore it's light to rinse upon us, lathe us-

This discomfort we feel, this is truth, no one said it was all pleasantries-
we take it into our souls, as captured illumination

star pendant chest
while the others shudder to think-

and hide in cool blue tourmaline waters pooling-
we are more creative and inventive than they-

we use it's heat like warming stones for our breaking backs, we believe-
drink in its fire as sustenance; to water down fear.

Bring to our cheeks-
and citrine rings into our blue eyes-

eat the peach fruits of it's labours-
the delicate wombs of earth

where you and I
are nothing less

than egging notions
of rebirth

processional, acrid, saffron tulip face-
bows to it's end, with one last sun dance, one last show-

as it's scent memory lifts to trade form, with another life, called death;

under the moons'
and suns'

constant

Continuum
of escape and chase.