Circulation

Circulation

The roundness of tonight’s moon
added depth to her words
printed on the old newspaper
that happened to find its way
into my hands.

She is a former colleague
who might have been a friend
if our paths had crossed
at a different point
in the cycle of life.

“I sense a circle full,”
she wrote,
sharing her past,
hinting at her future,
and reminding us all
that life becomes death
and death becomes life.

The vines
that form the wreath
are pliable.
They bend.
And as one slides past
another,
a crook
catches on
a flaw.

Branches tangle for a while,
spending time together,
until they break free
and go their separate ways,
continuing on so that
a ring is formed.

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