A tightrope strung

Between two thoughts,

Composed, the acrobat

Stands on one leg,

Toes gripping the golden rope,

Arch and heel

Growing roots

Deep into the earth;

The other leg ready to stride

Into the abyss,

Secure and unflappable.

Everything perfect



Striped clothing and

A feathered cap

Comprise her ensemble,

Just the right degree,

For her performance,

Of levity and wit.

A passing bird tweets twice

In recognition,

Then pauses on a branch

To admire her poise.


Sweet kisses from the sun

Rain upon her brow,

Cradle the back of her neck,

Like a father’s hand.

Newborn she blinks

Returning without haste

To the center.


Perfect, perfect

Even in pain,

The joy remains untouchable

In its willingness to surrender.

Ten stories, a hundred stories

A million stories deep

She glides

Along the Net of Indra.


Picture: Kite Dancer, brush and ink on rice paper


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