I know of circus acts
that claim to
tapdance on the breeze
jump from cirrus to cummulus
and hitchikethe jetstream

but none compare
to the elegent stride
as I watch you
on the the blue sidewalk
you create step
after simple step

so high above
the crowd
your hand steadying me
soft, firm within
the right pocket
of my coat

You are my
flight and floating
and any impression
of concrete far below
is an illusion

Next to you
safe with you
I am the naive
high wire artist
learning a new
circus

The sky is canvas
the dirt below
a net

You
dressed in scant
glowing sequins
are carried on
swooping drafts
of applause and
regular adoration

I watch and
try to mimic
your grace
(fail)
until I close my eyes
let the you I have
memorized
take over my
clumsy limbs

and while I cannot
become you
(ease and beauty)

I (at least)
begin to believe
in a me
that just might
exist
(though never featured
on marquees)

But I need
no ring of bright
lightbulbs
no bold print

just your hand
in my pocket
as you continue
to teach me
how to walk
the sky