circles

there are three
forming a perfect circle,
a drunken girl screams
a man in the brush shrinks
a figure in the light runs
the street lamp flickers once
the figure in the light shrinks
the man in the brush runs
the drunken girl mutes
fists clenching, adrenaline rushing
their actions fall short,
pushed back by unfamiliar pains
despair resurfaces again and again
someone falls through dampened leaves
lying in pools of pale blue light
with eyes closed,
one last sound fills the street
to end the night
the gentle fall
of a broken heart.