Two of Discs:

A pair,

Matching and balanced,

A sweep of my vanity sends sparkles across the room.

Shimmering

I toss my head once again.

A gift, a luxury,

yet the regard, the appreciation,

adds value and worth.

For beauty begets beauty

a tangible thing to charge the moment.

Spirit and soul, left and right

A pair, a set

Useless alone.

 

Three of Discs:

Stone husks remain.

Time immemorial.

Beyond the reach of memory.

Indefinitely ancient

before history abandoned it.

Now still,

the deserted community bakes,

silently soaking up the sunshine.

Care and pride in the form of stone, pine, mud, and straw.

Old to ancient, the cross beams hold,

strong vegas against the rot of time.

Triple doorways aligned with the sun.

Yet now no drums, no dancing,

turquoise, painted pottery, cocoa, macaw feathers, baskets, gone.

The power of the light marked by the giant stone dagger,

a blade so huge it pierced the sky,

split the wheel of the year in half,

the summer solstice noon,

bled the clouds, it promised rain.

Slowly, the walls chip away, turning to dust,

and wind,

as all things do.

 

Four of Discs

Slow

progress takes its toll.

The dung beetle rolls the Sun across the sky:

the ant hoists the crumb above its head:

the turtle catches the hare.

It can be an uphill battle,

slide on a slippery slope.

Toes in the mud, the cool grass to hid in among

up to the knees.

Knee deep.

The cricket remains quiet,

and the grasshopper is still.

At the center, at the beginning,

it was only

one.