Circles

There are many beginnings along the road. If you can find those along the way that will permit the erasing of the missed turns.

The past sometimes troubles speaking as if it isn't satisfied to stay hidden behind the tree. It can be mistaken for the shadow until it moves in the opposite direction--the unforgettable aged odor stirring.

Those scenes once explored and left behind because they frightened act boldly. Now the way becomes obscure and the same stone marks the beginning again.

Speaking of clay

Breathing clay.
Not on his own.
Walks off the wheel.
The master reproduces the design.
Adding colors, feathers and limbs.

The black hummingbirds are wise.
Living among their enemy.
Too fast for him to catch
They'll have to settle for the ignorant instead.

The clay moves mimicking his surroundings.
Speaking, walking, standing.
The ground now under his feet.