To a semi-circle: seeking wisdom







Alone among the shapes I meet,

you rest, content and incomplete;

no rounded symmetry I see,

nor perfect immortality.

Your half-formed body, foetal soul

seems broken, wounded, far from whole.

Your pair of angles doesn’t quite

square the circle, set things right.


Yet, should I look beyond such flaws,

open up my blinkered doors,

perhaps I’d see through different eyes:

your gentle promise, silver-bright

shining half-moon in the night.