Hanging by a thread
I twirl delightfully.
Delicious how the least
breeze prompts movement -
a sudden ballet -
a choreography
of balances and turns.
Foolish to insist on stillness.
An atom twisting its way
urges on the dance.
There is no release.
I giddy in the flex
of a far electron;
turn turtle
in the blowing up
of unseen dusts and distances.
Life whistles through a grass-blade.
It is easy to forget.
Easy not to remember
how thin is the thread
on which we perform.
Thinner than the whisker
of the briefest mouse.
Thinner than the mere
un-stitched beginnings
of a spider's see-through cotton.
Thinner than the dream
it is easier to cling to
than the thin ache
we never lose inside.