A roar of white noise,
the color of breaking glass
in blue billows of Cirque du Soleil,
where the Tourists flamenco into
that cannot be resolved
with a word,
but perpetuates itself in the
like a Magician unlocking the door
that has never been built,
until the Human Soul
enters on carouselambras of coincidence,
and the ocean
marries the Edge of the Space/time continuum.
In the trapeze where the Orchids smile into thundering
the lightning of their imagination
lost in vertigo of God,
the Circus becomes something it is not.
When the Ringmaster pirouettes underneath the Arc de Triomphe,
arrives, carrying a Teacup boiling with Chameleon's tears.