High Wire
for D.C.
Caught in nothing as simple as a compromise,you rise again above the crowd¶s gaping, up-turned faces.They never thought, in their gathering, they¶d cometo witness you staring so intently at their emptiness.This wire leads to nowhere they can go but each wants, so desperately, someone other than themselvesto cross it. That¶s why you¶re where you are,rocking deftly on the platform¶s edge. They don¶t carehow many times you pawed the icy glass of bourbonto your lips or how many kisses you could have hadif the woman you were trying to ply with liquor hadn¶t drifted, after midnight, to the better end of the bar.You are the center of it all for them no matter what you¶re thinking.You test the wire with a toe like a bather testing tepid water but they can tell you¶re the one to do it for them;their cocky substitute, their braver doubleintrepid enough to ease your way step by stepacross a void they themselves could never master.You wish they had their confidence in you but you¶ll walk without it through spot-lit air to cross to a place no one but you were meant to reach.It¶s what you won¶t do between the inevitable departureand the hoped-for arrival that matters, the catalogueof visions you just can¶t have, the list of voicesyou hope won¶t call, the phantom bills you can¶t evade,the real mail you never got, the one recollected glimpseof any neon sign you¶ve missed in any townyou left behind for good. If they knew how hard it wasto keep things this simple; they¶d hold their breathfor longer than they¶d care to, longer than the time it takes youto spring the first of seven ever more complicated somersaultson them. It¶s what you care to do that doesn¶t matter or so it seems as you watch, from your still point,their seated world turn topsy-turvy in the darkened tent.The exhilaration they were looking for just doesn¶t come that easy.The price you pay is greater than the value of a sold-out show.
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