They said the circus needed grace
a girl with quiet in her face
I left the gate the breathing rain
the soil still warm with what was mine
The road bent wide beneath the moon
and led me to the painted line

The tents were stitched with candle threads
the air was thick with dust and sweet
The strongman lifted up the world
his shadow taller than the night
He smiled and all the torches bowed
the stars bent low to see his feat

The ringmaster spoke soft and clear
his gloves as white as river stones
He told me strength was born from faith
and faith was made from keeping still
His hand was light his grip was firm
his voice sank deep beneath my bones

The clowns were kind their laughter small
their eyes like cracks in porcelain
They moved like ghosts in borrowed skin
their painted smiles began to run
The crowd leaned close the drums grew thin
and every cheer became a hum

The strongman held the tent in place
his arms were trembling slow unsure
I danced beside his steady frame
the lights were gold the air was white
He whispered once
  I heard my name
   and everything
    began
     to blur

The crowd dissolved, the music slipped
 the floor was water
   I was air
The strongman dropped his shining world
I tried to reach him  no one there
The tent collapsed a silken sea
I breathed it in
    I stayed
     I stayed

Now all is quiet round and small
the lights have sunk beneath the skin
the strongman stands
 or maybe falls
  his body holds
   what I have been

the drums are still
the show is done
and I am folded deep within