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Balance Beam

Heel to toe, heel to toe,
arms spread wide for balance
I walk the tightrope,
wobbly at first, then I am stable.
Until the wind blows,
not sideways
but from below.
It is so far down.
So far.
Right. Left. I teeter on the edge
and start to fall.

My right foot catches.
then my left.
Don’t look down.
Don’t.
But the tightrope no longer feels
as thin.
My feet have something to stand on.
Pick a point
up ahead.
Focus. Concentrate. Look at what
the tightrope has become.

Wider, a balance beam,
it stretches ahead beyond the
point where I can see.
Not perfect, but I feel more secure
Until the wind blows,
not sideways
but from above
It is still so far down
So far.
Right. Left. I teeter on the edge
and start to fall.

Warmth surrounds my hand.
The feel of flesh,
skin on skin.
Soft.
The beam no longer feels
as thin
I spread my feet wider
pick a point up ahead.
Focus. Concentrate.
Look forward at what
the beam has become.

A path through the open air,
not paved, but of substance
Covered by clouds, but breaking.
More is visible. I feel more secure.
Until the wind blows,
not from the side
but from ahead.
It’s not so far down.
Not far.
Right. Left. I sway back and forth
but do not fall.

A hand grasps mine.
We stand
side by side.
Stable.
The path no longer feels
as narrow.
I turn and look into her eyes.
Forget looking ahead,
her gaze swallows mine.
Focus. Concentrate.
On my angel.
And what my world has become.

The path wanders through the sky
Up and down, never level.
Sometimes in light, other times
in shadow, but I do not fear.
Even when the wind blows
no matter from what direction
Ahead, above or below
It’s not far down.
Not far.
We sometimes stumble and sway
leaning on each other, we look ahead,
and do not fall.

Published inAdvice for Authors