By Rachel Boimwall

Everything is round,
the apple and the plum,
the earth,
a drop,
the base of the tree,
the time of day and night,
times of the year,
and another thing,
every concept
is round,
and every deed,
if one looks deep enough.
The logical sequence itself
is a circle.
The return from going away
is the prize.
Birth and death,
laughter and weeping,
and then the understanding
that we cannot understand.

All right,
I will not discuss it anymore.
A round tear
drops from your eye.

Originally appeared in Voices Within the Ark: The Modern Jewish Poets, eds. Howard Schwartz and Anthony Rudolph (New York: Avon Books, 1980). Reprinted with permission of Howard Schwartz.