I never had a ladder, I’m the illusionist.

We dance the equilibre. I climb the corde pareille.

You hold out your hand, cupping

a large nail, and tell me it’s sacrificial.

A tight wire, I’m done

with my balancing pole. I climb

to your hand, an aerial act

under the cupola. You offer charee-varie

to help ease my walk. I sweat and strain,

everything harder than yesterday.

You invite me with an open palm –

I swing and pirouette.

Your whole life a smoke with disdain.

Crowds of critical eyes on my safety line.

Snakes form infinities waiting for the fall.

You know it would take a push

and that would be all.


Notes:

In response to After ‘Genesis’ (Genèse) by Yves Tanguy, 1926 Oil,

39 3/8 x 31 7/8″, Collection Claude Hersent, Meudon, France.