Aerialist

He's still as tall as ever,
the love of your life,

not quite bearable up there.
Impossible to ignore

like a borrow pit
already fallen into,

or a scratch in the skin:
crimson then gold,

haphazard then designed.
His first act was

matter-of-fact;
the second crackled

like alcohol over ice;
and now the penultimate:

all eyes on the ceiling,
the equator between

you two, a cathedral
of air and nerve.

Copyright © 2006 Mark Yakich All rights reserved
from Unrelated Individuals Forming a Group Waiting to Cross
Penguin Books
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission