The Big Top
Toward the grinding stars,
to the creaks of winches and pulleys,
they raised it on three huge poles
and secured its edges with iron stakes
sledgehammer-driven
deep into the heart of the earth.
It looms in moonglow, quiet as a tomb
of heavy cloth. In a matter of hours,
at showtime, it will glow in the night
like precious stones roiling in the dark,
cupped hand of a gypsy,
its canvas sides undulant
with the exhaled breath of elephants.
Larry D. Thomas
Posted over on Right Hand Pointing
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