A circle has no ending,
no periods or dates.
No beginnings either
no pre-determined fate.
Some think it has a boundary
scribed in rock or sand
a sharp, defined circumference
that we can comprehend.
But geometry's no pattern
for what our minds embrace,
our circle's not a border,
fixed in time or place.
We're gathered here as writers
looking in, and up, and out
and all our conversations
admit a note of doubt.
The only thing that's certain,
at the centre of our sphere,
is sharing, comparing, preparing
are the reasons that we're here.