Circle of Light

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A game of solitaire

late at night in springtime

played out on a small computer

on a homemade wooden table

covered with a brightly colored cloth.

There’s the entropy of the shuffle,

virtual cards return into chaos, randomness,

their natural proclivity for disorder,

like the profusion of creation

going on outside this circle of light,

where I am protected

from the darkness,

o oh yeah, the darkness,

outside

and all those biting insects, oh!,

and who knows what,

and the moon, yes, the moon,

the lovely moon waxing full,

each month, Oh!

While in the meantime,

the six goes on the seven,

the two goes on an ace,

and the dogs bark at the sirens

of other people’s misfortune,

at who knows what’s going on out there,

while I seek safety

in this enclosed engagement of the mind,

in this nothingness

of artificial sequences of numbers and royalty

that ends up in hierarchies.

The king goes at the top, then the queen,

then the jack and the ten,

just as they always have,

the way they are supposed to,

until everything becomes perfect,

and there’s a little rush of gratification, pride

and approval from…..

the royal family, or someone,

before the game returns to

the shuffle,

and the same disorderliness

as the cacophonies of insects chirruping,

frogs croaking,

grasses and weeds growing in abandon,

and me

in the perfect cycle of the moon

waxing full,,

in the perfect circle of light,

outside my head.

Russell Rosander

3/24/16 El Aguacate, Jal, Mx

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