Sudden heart, tightrope walker with no rope
and no rest, how long will it be?
Down in the lighted arena the horses shake their heads
over you, their bright plumes waving goodbye.
And already the mournful tuba
and that sentimental codger, the double bass,
lament you in a syncopated rhythm.
Far down below,
to meet your fall, stretches
the drum.

But this blue void,
this free fall,
this piercing joy