circus caravan, always on the go

words taste bitter in december when

urns are emptied, filled, lost, doubled till

small talk becomes no talk.

this year, the gap on the shelf

of a borrowed book reminds:

keep the moment when the acrobat

freezes on the trapeze, statuesque

marbled eyes locked in the space between

one second and the next,

feasting on the contradiction of being motionless

yet on top of the world.

this year, the gap on the shelf

of a borrowed book reminds me just that.

only a time too vulnerable to be measured in minutes

prevents seizures of lunacy when

young things trickle in rivulets, engulfing the space

only you and i knew.

they could never learn of

a time too vulnerable to be measured in minutes.

foolish, whimsical young things don’t speak in sepia

like we did.

deep breaths.

smiles in january will be sweeter.

i know this in threes, twos,

ones.