The big tent buffers the empty skies
that remind of uncertainty and solitude.
Without the hijinks of clowns, wonder dies:
an alternate existence full of disguise.
In seats the gathering folk are glued;
the big tent buffers the immense skies
that swallow the small workaday lives.
Nightly the calliope world is viewed:
Without flaming-hoop tigers, wonder dies,
all the sparkling costumes that mesmerize,
for onlookers thirsty for the magic imbued.
The big tent buffers the empty whys
of sacred grounding or a roll of the dice.
Idling trucks wait for the show to conclude;
without trapeze and high wire, wonder dies.
So the circus goes up for a new town’s eyes;
the humdrum welcomes a gay interlude—
the big tent suffers the endless skies:
without a circus, I wonder what dies ?
*[ WSB ].