Wing Walker

Weary of barrel rolls,
I inch along the wing,
sway on a showman’s heels.

Below lies everything—
church, cornfield, farmhouse roof—
that settled life can bring.

There’s nothing to reprove,
yet little to delight.
Glimpsing my act above,

they marvel at the sight
as if, daring at heart,
they too had taken flight

to serve a dying art.
Loosed from every tie
that stakes a claim to earth,

I sell a flash of sky.