by Mary E. Lowd
There isn’t room for echoes
Of hateful words too long remembered
Or lamentations
Of relationships long dead
When every crevice
Each yawning canyon
Of space for thoughts
Is filled with dancing dogs
In colored silks like clowns
A whole town of circus performers
Just for you, always around
To jostle away unwanted strains
Of past, troubling refrains
With joyous howling
At a glowing moon