The Satisfaction of Circles

I don’t mean knitting circles, or musical circles  
with their hums and dainty tunes. I certainly

don’t mean Dante’s Circles of Hell. I mean drum  
and bell of heaven-earth-God-human circles,

like those pebble-fall water circles, or mushroom  
caps (even nibbled), open eyes, Frisbee’s hurtles,

egg-yolks (whole), Cheerios, hula hoops, full moons—  
all delegates of divinity’s delicate perfection, teasing

our wistful hearts like wayward halos. I mean  
even bicycle wheels—not only spokes’ and hubs’

Godly geometry (centre everywhere), I mean 
their capacity for travel, their revel and reach 

like mother-rapture, baby held by her love-gaze, 
captured by her mouth’s O-shape (love’s awe). 

I mean I am cycling toward the Summoning Wheel— 
I mean my Source—Who (mad potter at his wheel) 

throws ceaselessly and shapes the circling clay, 
drawing us up and up, higher and higher till we say