soloist

like gene kelly's white glove
not a thread out of place
not a bead of sweat or thought on his face

the soloist climbs
holds my breath in his hands

actor and audience
we are attached by a gossamer thread
pulled so tight it could snap

stepping on pins
I wipe perspiration from my palms
and hold his feet
in my hands
counting time
in specks of sand

See Also:
essay: the seduction of climbing
essay: the best climbing meal
tr: fear of commitment