inbetween the drops of water


a juggler could tell you
about the beauty of a ball
when it arcs through
the s p a c e
upward

before the descent

pause

defying gravity
or its immediate fall

all that momentum
skilled curve from the hand

forgotten

under the sun,
it is almost invisible for a second

hangs

onto that space
between the d r o p s o f w a t e r

life continues to whirl
going around in a loop
sometimes upward
the other times downward
and
sometimes im weightless
a perfect pause
a graceful cusp point
beauty of an arc existing
knowing
for just a split second
i hang free
in spaces between the drops of water
a silvery projectile

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