By J. A. Sutherland


She drew a perfect circle in the air

and left it there

the circle wasn’t without form or void

and so she toyed

with what she thought she couldn’t see

– eternity –

although she thought it wise to draw the circle



It hovered like a halo in the dark and though

it cast a glow

beside her as she studied its circumference

no luminescence

emanated from within nor light as she peered deeper

fell upon her

nor an inkling or epiphany or flicker of enlightenment

for what it meant


It was a perfect circle that she drew

and looking through

brought nothing new to her and yet

she couldn’t let

her eye be turned from its mesmeric stare

– she didn’t care –

it was a perfect circle in the air

and nothing more


She did not pause

to wonder why she never saw venn diagrams

– a hexagram –

of other overlapping spheres

since only hers

appeared to her a single singular paradigm

of broken time

that neither was a moon nor sun nor clock

but was perhaps

a moonbroch or an aureole of a lunar eclipse

that hinted at

a deeper storm or darker threat

of things to come

that only she could see by looking through

– beyond – to where

another woman drew a perfect circle

in the air…

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