Circulo Quebrado

His sacred circle cast him out

without a backwards glance.

His hosts no longer let him in

to share their circumstance.


 A friendship marble hit a spoke

and broke away discretely.

 A  roulette wheel flung out the ball,

A gamble lost completely.


He used to dance on mirrored floors

with serpentine shapes mapping

a snake dance through revolving doors,

friends drumming feet were tapping.


Now wholeness is no longer his.

The group cliqued shut without him.

Spiders spin in unity,

a web outside his rhythm.


A bandage will not wrap the wound,

absorb each wine-like drop.

The great Mandela rolls along.

Its carousel can’t stop.


~ by dianeklammer on March 20, 2013.

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