The white motives gyrating through the trees.
Like an engine, the moon comes over.
Its radiance howls and the winter
Dry as sherry grows full
In the succulent mouth.
We behold our childhood lost
In the kaleidoscope of mist and fractions.
We behold our parents, and their parents
Before them, disappearing down the line.
In the single and brittle magic
The thin shadows of ourselves
Appear like actors in an old, undeveloped film.
Their frail, papier-mâché performance
Passes slowly before our eyes.
Seth Jani was raised in Western Maine. He is the founder and editor of Seven CirclePress and his own work has been published widely in such journals as Writers’ Bloc, Foundling Review, Hobo Camp Review and Gutter Eloquence. He currently resides in Seattle, WA.