i hear you throaty warbles on cue as i step into the cold. but i have yet to behold the graceful arc of your neck and the playful dance of your trek along the ancient current. oh sandhill, it’s as if you weren’t so different from me floating on the edge of free.
round and round it goes. where it started where it will stop. nobody knows. Johnny sang about it. Tolkein wrote about it. i live it. will the circle be unbroken? the old hymn asks. only when a brave one trembling steps over the rim and flies. tight is the grip of the devil on thoseContinue reading “circle. a poem.”