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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, 2020, The Fairfield Review Inc., All Rights Reserved.
Document last modified on: 09/28/2004