to walk with the weight of a thousand stars

succeed, thrive, 

prosper

prosper.

I have a proposal.

As you walk upon the thin thread,

if you fall,

by some mishap of 

imbalance,

the skin at your shoulder blades will tear apart,

there'll be a huge rip but it'll sound like a breath--

they'll be gigantic,

pitch black or reflective white

both resplendent beauties in their own right

each feather speaking to you 

as if it has its own life

aching in effervescent solitude,

telling you to depart

to depart

and tip, top, up you'll go

up and up and up

I'll tell the journalists,

"her wingspan breadth i simply cannot recount

their magnitude did crush the people of New York!"

but only those on the uppermost floors.

they were a brush to the street walkers,

especially those gathered by the a/c unit for warmth.

and if you do this,

prosper, 

trip and fall,

or simply let go,

Another one will watch you, 

she will break,

in a similar way,

the reflective ceiling above her head,

slicing her shoulder blades apart,

will cut out magnificent feathers made of glass

glistening, defying 

all laws of gravity

a split second she will be in the air,

until the glass smashes her down

to walk with the weight of a thousand stars