Circles

An inference of platitudes

a circle

and defining latitude, a foreign

thought, a cross

across sovereign skies

intertwined tales of lassitude

a 3 pence secret

and yellowed articles that

speak of it

In front of the old brownstone

with the oaken door

a brass knob

turned the opening

thereby, gaining entry

in time born of an odd

soliloquy

the remnant unfettered

I noticed it changed your gait

left unlocked, the gate

swung in silently on

freshly oiled hinges

privy to the partly secluded, you

saw the closing

once you spoke of

the orange Tom-cat

asleep on the porch.

Certain you were that his presence

heralded great import, but

it went undiscovered

for the longitude

of your whereabouts

lead you to the place of

moist earth and ancient artifacts

safely tucked away

for all those years, eyes wide

unfurled for your witness

the fateful dissertations that followed

worded the discovery

for some doctor’s education.

To a degree,

I never could grasp

the lessening that imbued the

curve of you, as

you stood atop the stairs

the day the circle was joined.

Ache.  The mystery is what does it.