In her poem “Cirque d’Hiver” Elizabeth Bishop depicts the exhausting, circular
motion of an old mechanical toy. A tin circus horse, who bears a little dancer on his
back, flits across the floor. Pierced to his body, the dancer “stands upon her toes
and turns and turns” while the horse himself canters, turns, and bows.
Thin silver lines attempt to echo this circular movement in space: a sharp, repetitive
dance with no beginning or end.