Mirror Ball Awnings Poem by Mark Heathcote
Mirror Ball Awnings
It's as if gravity were just a joke.
Narrowly, she swings by a silken rope.
Tiptoeing on air—O how she's got it all sewn up.
It's as if she's walking on the moon.
Or -dancing around a spinning loom.
Her egg sac is nearly ready to erupt.
High-wire breaking from their trapeze yolk.
It's mesmerising to watch, but I baulk.
Move away from any form of hand-touching.
As I watch in wonder, her brood ishatching.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/16/2025 7:34:43 PM # 1.0.0
