With her hand, she drew perfect circles,
from balloons to bicycles, perfectly formed.
Devine, her lines were always exactly right,
she had the eye and the appetite.
To compensate, she hardly ever cried,
but her buttery eyes were warm to my sight.
She claimed the center of my centrifuge
with her gift of circles, she became a refuge.
But gravity pulls hard on shoulders and wheels
Even the planets are pulled into line.
The whirling dervishes have all disappeared
Gone to nirvana’s lost hemispheres.
A lifetime of circles she spanned every height,
With her arcing reminders of eternal light.