the sly circularity of every story

We look for messages carved into our teeth 
and encoded in the lyrics of old folk songs.

crystalline scene by crystalline scene,
life sneaks up on you then leaves.

from buoyant to bottom,
days are saved from sinking only by the deliverance of death.

We all want to live in an Edith Wharton world,
but most are in a recessive Raymond Carver short story.

ghosts we will remain,
holy and unscientific in soul, spirit and Earth.

We are hopefully on repeat
in an Ouroboros circle, so see you next time.