never known

right up the steep climb, deep and hard to reach
the slow trickling stream
the hard high rocks.
the placid marsh lake surrounded by cirque.
the place where it ballooned and swelled and burst a thousand times.

thickened molasses sung songs.
the vibrancy of voice
a slow pace and boyish demeanor.
secrets inside the thoughts.

masks, rows of clowns walking in circles.
the chariot ride toward the carnival shows.
the thud and crash of streetcars
and the sounds of pouring rain
under and through we dance

you have no questions for angels, just directions.
the absence startles the minks in their boarded cages.
its quiet though
so the suttle hiss and throb of the spider
never reach to our ears.

we have become blackened
gropin our ways in synetic circumstances.