The Trapeze Swinger
The trapeze swinger's song settles like snow,
Spreading warmth and sight through the smooth darkness,
Like a blanket with holes for seeing the stars,
Like a dying torch held on his deathbed,
Held so tightly that light no longer matters.
His eloquent graffiti is carved like touch,
Covering my skin in tales of trouble
Until they burn with noble belonging,
Like dying embers in a stately ruin,
Like a scar that known me all my life.
His story weaves a path of hushed despair,
Through the arches travelled and untravelled,
Searching for comfort in which to be immersed,
Like a wounded dove as it sees the snow,
Like the troubled as the lights go out.
His soft melancholy connects at last,
Smothering my heart in fluttering waves
That move to the beat of innocent poetry,
Like the silhouette of a secret dancer,
Like a flag in mourning for its dead.
You are the comfort that his sorrow found,
An angel, lost, with no way of escape,
A vision too familiar to mention,
Like the wind commanding trees to perform,
Like the darkness bringing no solution,
Like the wound that never tries to heal.