It’s a strange world,
made of echoing emptiness
pulling itself together,
like Baron Munchhausen
pulling himself out of the swamp by his hair.
You cavort through it,
creating it as you go,
a cartoon character
picking up tracks from behind
and laying them in front
for your train to keep going;
an oblivious demiurge
sensing the world into being.
Every time you make a handstand –
you stand on the edge of the precipice.
Every time you laugh –
you laugh in the face of death.
It fills me with awe,
and joy,
and terror,
and utter amazement
at the strangest thing of all –
your ability to see this world as rock-solid.
