It's not solely the dance of the juggler but his spirit: with its turkey wings, perfect thighs, sensuous hips, large round flat eye. This eye smiles like lips. Watch this eye -- it's not a donkey eye. It's not solely the dancer who moves like a circus animal as though to children's music -- no, it's the girl in the swing's rhythm, the ticking of the clock at night, the strut of the cock, the flight of the holy family to the remains. The nipple that feeds the infant is an eye looking into his future. It's not even the village square with its musicians and happy faces that makes the difference =- no, because if it were, weddings with violins, harps, flutes would have settled the question: no, it is the rising and lifting, the failing and catching of that unknown sense of self before it crashes, that matters. Used with the permission of Copper Canyon Press, P.O. Box 271, Port Townsend, WA 98368-0271, www.cc.press.org | Discover our Poem Explanations and Poet Analyses!Other Poems of Interest...NEURASTENIA by AGNES MARY F. ROBINSON THE BIRTH SONG OF CHRIST by EDMUND HAMILTON SEARS KEEPERS OF THE SUN by DOROTHY P. ALBAUGH ADDRESS TO HIS NATIVE VALE by ROBERT BLOOMFIELD THE STRING AROUND MY FINGER by JOHN GARDINER CALKINS BRAINARD THE WANDERER: 5. IN HOLLAND: FAILURE by EDWARD ROBERT BULWER-LYTTON |