Her life is the wire-she can never come down.

    Sometimes she stops and sits on it to eat，

    even sleeps there， her whole body stretched

    as the wire is stretched. In sleep

    she keeps her balance，

    feet curled like a monkey's

    the habit of grasping：

    she has never fallen.

    She never will， not entirely.

    Once in a while a slip

    causes her to hang for a moment by her hands.

    It isn't the danger of falling that slices through her dreams

    but the wire itself， drawing

    a line through her body，

    leaving a mark on the soles of her feet，

    her buttocks， her back.

    If she were to cut the wire （she dreams of this）

    the sky would break like a mirror into the sea

    and nothing would be whole again.

    Virgin of the Apocalypse standing on a crescent moon，

    she is keeping

    Heaven and Earth apart.