Falling Up

Gods, gift me the all-righting grace of cats,

for, when I fall, no hand will intercede.

“Trust” means another thing to acrobats;

the clowns could start an elephant stampede.

I trusted you as far as I could grasp

with knees wrapped ’round a hundred-foot trapeze,

and, when I’d let you go, the crowds would gasp.

Without a net, I feared the slightest breeze,

but I pretended gravity might cheat

if falling toward the heavens would restore

my perfect place in nature, at your feet

in Limbo ‘tween your poise and ‘neath the floor.

I never feel the ground beneath my shoe.

I could let go, to plummet up anew.