Circle
​
In a blue pool, one of us wades,
      Pond ringing ankle bones 
In concentric halos. Iridescent fish whirl
      In their schools of ablution.
The lost one, wounded, voiceless, 
      Wears nine bracelets & a clutch of days:
Memory is silver & the future copper, 
      Each alternates to the elbow.
The present is the skin.


from Sacred Spaces (2018)