Trapeze
I used to believe that you were merely part of my training in the dark arts, more cause for my conversion to a Godless world with no one looking on. No doubt, for the long journey out, you were also in the first pull of the oars, a trip spanning decades, the centuries rolling back and forward, all without pause.
Now, how do I get back to you? I've been scanning maps and horizons; longitudes and latitudes... spanning points; the footsteps since leaving fixed here like stars on the crossroads of a sphere. Docking, I know that the clock ticks by the cresting of the moon.
I stopped for a Barman on the sand, resting - a philosophical kind. He debated happiness, dis-ease and The Questioning Mind.
"Are you happy now?" I put my maps down, we drank; watched a couple tie a thin red line between two coconut trees, elasticized and weighted at each end. "Have you ever walked the Trapeze, my friend?" and the Boy stepped up onto the heat of the wire, an artist, his arms surfing the bounce from above. "Yes, of course..." he said, "...but only when I'm in love! Pointless to think of your feet - you must put your soul over there - and go toward it..."
The Girl fell. Again and again she hit the ground. Was her thinking wrong, the red road too long, her strong mind not on the other tree, too often looking down? "She's not in love, but it can be found in the instant she is equal to the stars; the stars and tree will talk - and, like you, she will walk when she doesn't want to be here anymore." I guess he meant love is written in the stars, something like that; I wrapped my maps in a scarf.
We smiled, watched the couple untie the thin red line, watched how they strolled a while hand in hand, down to sunset. Happiness? Of all my footsteps, I'm just so glad we met.
