Rising and falling on the smooth, swirling surface of a pin's head. Rotating slowly, winter, fall, summer and spring.
Grassy fields, and dark brick buildings,
I've known these places before.
The world surging forward, and falling back.
A long touch of time like a slow seduction,
backwards to the very root.
What was left, but glass bottles and new friends.
And a sense of sinking through the night,
to the soft glow of twilight I lived before.