On the Surface of Venus: Poetry

Here in lies the struggle
between what to be
and what I am
as if the chasm isn't
wide enough to
already let me fall

I start this tap-dance
towards the crevice,
this erratic waltz
right to the edge,
and I don't even bother
to look down
into the darkness
because I've fallen
in there before

And the gap between
is so wide,
it looms large
and devastating,
yet I keep on dancing
my little samba
as if it's all that
matters in the world

I take a breath and
leap, envisioning
a thousand ballet
dancers on tip-toes
like swans,
conjuring a hundred
Gypsy women clasping
hand-bells and kicking
up their heels,
perceive ten nuns
in a circle holding
hands as they chant in prayer,
and I imagine
that I've these great,
grand wings that will
take me where I need to go

And to my surprise,
my feet don't land
on the surface of Venus,
they don't strike
the underbelly of Mars,
instead I'm dancing there,
suspended in the air,
like some fairy thing
I once knew...

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