Decircled

Run into the night

Unseen by mortals

Hide

Into the tear

On a finger tip

🙂

That Sunday

That market

You

Chasing discounts, table to table

Each seller, jokers and swindlers

Magicians at every carpet’s end

Purveyors all, bargain chaser, you

ash was cheap and abundant

Almost free

And you bought it

All of it

twice

Hiding in its gray, sliding into the murk

Unseen

Holding back the spring

Still wondering

Seasonless

Dripping, undown, directionless

From a touch

Imortaless