When I was a young

I feared falling down

The drain in the vortex

Of swirling water

The thin gruel my

Mother served as

Love was insubstantial

And left you wanting

She parsed each

Tidd-bit and wanting more

Was foreboden

A thin existence

Like living on a

String

No wonder I loved

To practice walking

On a tightrope and

Making Circuses

Of the imagination