Will this be the only year
Will there be another year
Will there be a book of years
Is one whole year
Way too long
To try to comprehend
As the tightrope supports
Are raised from the ground
At the end of winter
As the access ladders
And platforms are fixed
Throughout springtime
As the sheer joy
Of walking the high-wire
Sustains us through summer
As the first steps of decay
Enter quietly but steadfast
Towards the back end of autumn
As the snap comes upon you
Others also begin to notice
The disharmony of winter
