Tents bloom like wild mushrooms on open fields,
their canvas skins tight against the morning hush.
A lion yawns behind rusting bars,
its breath a whisper of ancient heat.

Children tug their parents toward the glitter,
where jugglers toss fire into careless air
and acrobats hang between seconds,
suspended by silence and string.

A man in red walks slowly through sawdust,
his face painted with a frozen grin-
he bows to laughter that isn't his.
The crowd claps.The music forgets to stop.

In the corners,shadows gather like secrets,
folding themselves behind sequins and smoke.
The spotlight circles,always searching,
never landing long enough to see.