Poetry

Ghost act

The rain has filled up the circus tent, lithe

figures walking out of the wet floor to take their positions in the ring.

Spotlights create mirrors as they climb up thin vines

to the trapeze at the top. Aerial acrobatics

for anyone wanting to watch, energy matching

the stink of old straw, popcorn and tinsel pompoms left behind.

Outside, the sun breaks through and sends evening’s fire

around the grounds, sneaking into the big top as the act begins.

The performer jumps and evaporates, nothing more than steam.