No net

For Andre

They are the rule-breakers, almost foolhardy

See them skip recklessly across the wire

Throw shapes with their shadow puppetry

Or pass their bare skin through the fire

We admire the illusion, is it trickery?

As they juggle with light, burst out of the stave

Their skill lies in their audacity –

Fortune favours those who are brave

They know, with mathematical certainty

When to push, when to gamble with their art

See them dance around eternity

We’re not like them. We could not scale their height
They are the poets of the cold, thin air

They need no net. They know that one is there.