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