Sunday, October 30, 2005


Tonight I contemplate circles, like the halo
that surrounds the cheesecloth moon
spying on me through the window,
and wonder if I’ll wake to snow.

I think about how circles never end,
and the power they have to keep things
apart or together, depending on which fork
of the path you walk.

I trace the circular paths of my life
and end up ambling backwards to him
and I think, all over again, about how he’d feel;

his skin against mine smooth as a velvet drape;
how he’d cradle me against the cushioned contours
of his chest; what his lips would taste like

and what he’d do to cast the light
back into my cobalt sky;
and why our circles do not intersect.

copyright 2005 by Cookala


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