Purim

the year's last  moon hangs low above the drink
a gleaming garnish to the bounding brine
it's barely glimpsed before it has to sink
Time's Arrow marked off by this cyclic sign
a final fling, once more to wax and wane
but first a ball of alcohol and masks
before another year swirls down the drain
to clear the desks for Pesach's cleaning tasks
the year churns 'round and we've advanced a pace
the cyclic coupled to the linear
by looking at one or the other face
we make Life's arc seem somewhat friendlier
trajectories make sense when read in tracks
we only get to see them looking back