Mish Damstra

Threads

We swing through the heights
on a cosmic trapeze,
our safety a golden thread
Ascending the universe,
beyond breath, all matter,
all that is

Passing The Little Prince,
ghosts and spirits,
we’re high wire flyers
There, in dark stillness,
clouds gather fierce and round,
shorn wool, grey with chill

I swing through the heights
on a cosmic trapeze
Coming through thunder,
strong and long,
to rest in rays of turmeric
on a trampoline sun

My safety – these golden threads,
guaranteed

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