The tightrope walker cautiously comes on
on a wire, stretched between two buildings:
below him, there are a good forty meters,
and every now and then the spiteful hand
of the naughty wind shakes the rope,
forcing him to breathtaking stops;
his feet gently caress the steel
with the delicacy of a lover
who grazes the face of his Andalusian;
down on the ground, people remain nose up
hoping that he falls down, and gets smashed:
this is the parable of the man,
who advances through the life in this world,
a very precarious balancing play
in the void, above the demons watching.