Aerialists - Mary Oliver
Aerialists know
Doubt is the heavy thing.
They know doubt is the stone, the flaw
Named accident. The figure
Whose body flows
Over the rings of darkness
Is the perfect believer.
He makes it look easy,
Leaping from swing to swing,
Shining—a white tendril
In the garden of blue air—
And safer than men on earth trudging,
Fervent but irresolute,
Their doubt always a dark itch,
Over fields and roads.
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