My father took me to the circus, once.
Pink candyfloss spun in a web of sugar cotton
and the acrobats whose contortions mystified my childlike eyes
Flames simmered and sparks flew,
like that little girl's smile when she learnt how to love.

She's older, now.
And her father doesn't take her to the circus
or the zoo
because she's too old for it.
And she thinks it's childish.

And really, she knows that time ticks,
no matter what,
but she is resilient,
her reflection warped by someone else's ideas.

She can't bring herself
to think of what she has left.

no one really noticed
not until he stood
six thousand miles, disattached from the world
cold, grey separation

and they screamed for him,
but
he couldn't hear
over the taunting
the cold, uncaring
the anger
was just too loud

until he fell,
and met the welcoming ground

and of course
suddenly he was loved
but only in death

and by the time that oaken box of a broken man passed by
it was too late to care.