Faith grabs his jittery pole and steps out, wired,
Toward what he has aspired
To reach by tightrope while below, a crowd
Murmurs its nerve around.
The tightrope wobbles, sways from side to side
Like an eraser plied
Across a page, and vees beneath his weight:
Faith cannot concentrate
Both on his steps and on the stupefying
Fact that the rope’s untying,
Unties, then falls––and Faith, instead of landing,
Hangs there, mid-air, still standing.
—Stephen Kampa
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