High wire

I’m often hanging by a stringthin elastic & it pings mein & out of love. The sea, the sky, endlessmoments passing bythere is no ‘’if ' or ‘’why’’ we recreate these fantasiesto live to love to die: but in that final hourjust who am I? I’m often clinging to that cliffflesh & blood & breathing genesleft by random lovers years ago it brought me life, it brought me lossthe spirit of this wounded worldwhere old friends turn to prophets ground bones to dust:I hear them call me in the nightbut I’m still bouncing on this string so thin it stretches to the brinkoblivion creeps in:there is no ‘’how’’ or ‘’why’’ belief is only that :my knowledge frailI beat myself & scan the sky for Angels wings.