Another 1st of May has just arrived.
Not descended, not announced, simply appeared,
the way a reflection appears when you finally turn your head.
Cycles never end.
They shed.
They molt.
They turn into other cycles
that will never end.
1st of may stands there
like a fresh doorway
built from the bones of the previous doorway.
It carries April’s dust on its shoulders,
April’s breath in its lungs,
April’s foolish heartbeat still echoing
in the corner of the room
where the skin continues to breathe.
This is not renewal.
This is continuation.
A loop disguised as a threshold.
A threshold disguised as a loop.
1st of may looks at you
with the calm eyes of something
that has done this a thousand times
and will do it a thousand more.
It knows the truth you already sensed:
that endings are only costume changes,
that beginnings are only rehearsals,
that time is a wheel
and you are standing inside its spokes
feeling the slow, inevitable turning.
Another 1st may have arrived, yes,
but it is not new.
It is the same ancient pulse
wearing a different mask,
the same river
changing only the shape of its surface.
Cycles never end.
They simply remember themselves.
May Official Opening Haiku
april sheds its skin
breathing in the corner’s dusk
time remembers us