The crescent moon climbs into its dark circle.
From the white lilac, shoots curl, dark circles.

The sun sets due west. We watch the Olympics.
In the saddle there, once we came full circle

back to camp to find deer chewing on buds.
Unafraid, they stared back us from liquid, dark circles.

I never thought I would be jilted by dreams.
And now children's children, the tight circle

of care for young, care for elders. How to fathom
hell, where Dante's dead wander in dark circles?

How live through sleeplessness until sun surfaces?
We cast our nets in largesse, beyond dark circles.

We pull Venus and Mars from the sky-whirl.
Inside those buds, odors of musk still circle, encircle.