Thursday, 5 April 2012

4: Petit

foot forward, my funambulist
step bold as fireworks to the mist

careen where buildings nudge the sky
a weightless heart your only why

with gravity you made your pacts
a letter sealed with severed wax

a handshake with a palm of wind
a deal from which you can’t rescind

this breadcrumb trail of woven steel
thread through the clouds does so appeal

you’ve kissed goodbye the sidewalk curb
and seized on floating as your verb

we crane, and still you’re but a speck
a witness stood on heaven’s deck

you totter, and the crowd inhales
a hummingbird beset by gales

still, if you choose this point to fall
you’ve just had Newton in your thrall

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