As a child, you learned 

you belong

in a beautiful world,

here to discern.

Then tether your line

low to the ground at first

and as you practice,

higher and higher.

Know your wire,

its droop, its bounce,

how to resist

its power to flip.

Higher and higher,

walk your line

scarcely aware

that the dew-

jeweled lawn

you totter over

is only

a figment—

funambulists

of beauty

must also fall,

not onto grass

or into a net—

so stretch out your arms

and step, balance,

adjust. Step,

balance, adjust.

Little by little,

the line must

belong to you.

 

 

(This poem is published in the November, 2022 issue of Bourgeon)