shift your weight
steady, steady now
and still
the balance of an arabesque
some thing you’ve become, tied with strings bled from the mind of a father
and you reach
as he does
for the self-strung hope dangling over the edge.
then you tip.
and you fall.
and he stays, up on his cloud of majesty
high above the sun and the stars and everything he wanted
(oh how he wanted)
to hold dear.