a kind of circle

it is a kind of circle
this death
we have come
to know
it follows us,

across the sky, into the fog
to where our ancestors lie-
as we descend
into burning caves-
between the push and
pull of the earth-
to the streets where orphans sing,
songs late into the night-

of this death, that has come,
infinite grief
in a kind of circle
forcing us from slumber,
canaries lost in flight.