lilting calliope from musty tents
that folded recursive row upon row, 
lonely stray dogs and a circus train
that reeked of grease and escape —

but what movement and song
that hot fairway night
painted eternal in garish hope,
until the artists and actors 
dissolved in their drinks
and the colors faded at dawn —

it was simple, it was small,
it was nothing, I know, 
but you shone 
in the moonlight 
that night.