Winding up winding down


Life in queue, send top spinning,

blur of fuchsia, yellow, blue.


Wobble begun, hair gone white,

North Star no longer high,


low in sky -- time enough

to carve a whistle from willow,


sculpt angel in snow, trace tide

before final letting go.


As the top slows, paint night's birth --

blackness last, red sunset, first. 


Winding down, whirl off alone, 

fists full of dizzy earth.


                             Timothy Pilgrim