They leave the Big Top behind. She is absorbed:
she sees again two acrobats who meet
at a great height,
two upright bodies facing each other, utterly straight,
sliding on silken feet along the cable
over the void.
He is distracted:
he can’t get out of his mind the winged trapeze-artist,
the precise movement of her ankles,
the ample to and fro of long hair full of shadow
sweeping the spotlight’s luminous circle.
They have seen stars made of fire:
they leaped like sparks from the hands
of a great juggler.
They have seen horses, camels and an elephant
dancing together under the trainer’s whip.
The clown was a dumb ventriloquist:
he spoke in the sad little voice
of his accordion.
“Did you notice? The child was almost crying
when the ballerina came out to comfort the clown…”
“The child? Where is he?” They turn around,
call him, grow anxious, rush hither and thither,
return to the Big Top, go in:
the musicians, clowns and camels
and all the wise men sit in a ring
and gaze upwards, mouths open.
At the the circus top
the child climbs on to the springboard of a parabola
and flies
flies between two trapezes,
weightlessly crossing
the fiery circle of the ring
above the void.