TFR Home Page | Contents | Prev. Page | Next Page | Comments |
By John M. Valentine High in the wires of the night, muscled And mighty, he powders his hands, Pops his knuckles, and swings through The air, hanging upside down like a Catcher of souls who suddenly and Mysteriously plucks you from empty Space as you’re spinning and tumbling And falling. He sends you sailing on a Thin trapeze stretched between death And forever, wind rushing through your Hair, your eyes wild and free, as he puts You down at last ever so gently, trembling, And shaking your head in amazement, Rapt as a child ready to climb the rope And start all over again. © Copyright 2004, John M. Valentine, All Rights Reserved. |
© Copyright 1997, 2024, The Fairfield Review Inc., All Rights Reserved.
Document last modified on: 09/28/2004