Nik Wallenda nears the middle of his tightrope walk,
1,800 feet across the mist-fogged brink of roaring Niagara Falls
.
There’s a thread you follow. It goes among
things that change. But it doesn’t change.
People wonder about what you are pursuing.
You have to explain about the thread.
But it is hard for others to see.
While you hold it you can’t get lost.
Tragedies happen; people get hurt
or die; and you suffer and get old.
Nothing you do can stop time’s unfolding.
You don’t ever let go of the thread.
—William Stafford, treasure
26 days before death
The Way it Is, 1998
.
On foot
I had to walk through the solar system
before I found the first thread of my red dress.
Already, I sense myself.Somewhere in space hangs my heart,
sparks fly from it, shaking the air,
to other reckless hearts.
—Edith Södergran (1892-1923)
Stina Katchadourian version
.
