On Dolorosa Street she kept an eye on the world against slats of baby blue wood.
Alhama's same blue gray sits behind her as she sunbathes after breakfast here on Gilmore Street.
Life can be a circular thing.
And the painted ponies go up and down
We're captive on the carousel of time
We can't return we can only look behind
From where we came
And go round and round and round
In the circle game