What good has any shape found?

If round
repeat the sound,
On to on
to on to on ...

Until it stretches time inside the arc
and catches every breath up to the next.
Yours to mine,
In to out to in to out ...

How does it move?

Against the ground --

A push,
A shove,
'til once connected
makes the turning on its own.
Momentum is the rolling
crown to crown.

Against the sky --

With a twisted finger stretches down
snagging clouds
and passer's by.

It folds and presses
front to back,
Squeezing circles flat.
It binds them side to side
as if they could circle
to and fro.
Compressing joy and wonderment
dancing toe to toe.

So, how does it stop?

Drop to a dot, down,
Then spin again, up,
Flare!

Tear!

Loud to loud!
Out to out!

Can it break?

A sort of stumble --
Hard to catch.
Clever trips --
Hard to watch.

Where has it been?

Around the mountin --
Comin' slow, waitin' low.
There's no hurry in the meetin.'
No one's leavin' empty handed,
'Cause we're taking what we sow.

The rounding starts to lengthen with a sound,
Filling gaps,
Flat to flat.
Until there is a bridge from still to still.

Quiet found.