What may begin
as lose or win
soon starts to spin
outside that frame.
It seems like play,
this bob and sway:
a bright display,
almost a game,
a wild careen,
drifting between
two wide extremes,
darkness and flame.
Always the chance
in the day’s dance
any advance
could leave you lame.
Each place you are,
gutter or star,
leaves its own scar.
No point in blame.
Thus every art
contains, in part,
true and false starts.
Each ends the same.
27 APR 2017
