Today's poem is by Julian Orde

The Thread
       

You'd think she did not love enough,
Her love is made of skinny stuff;
A cobweb.

But taut and trembling as the string
Teased by a bow on violin
Until it screams.

It has no left or right or space,
So narrow that it has no face —
Yet does not break.

One foot before the other goes,
The swaying lady — ah! she knows
That far below

They sit upon their velvet chairs
And watch in case the rope betrays
And lets her go.

Though you may laugh or sneer to see
A path so circumscribed, it's she
The courage has;

And look — the gossamer above
Still holds, beneath her dance of love,
So light she is.

Copyright © 2024 Julian Orde All rights reserved
from Conjurors
Carcanet Press
Reprinted by Verse Daily® with permission