Rarified

Which do you trust?

The rope or the hand that holds it?

As the foot stumbles

And the eye wanders

There is a catch

Somewhere between the heart and the spine

That we gird.

Is it armored in faith

Or denial?

Is true trust so stratified,

To a point so rarified

That to me or you

It no longer matters

And is no longer challenged, but rather

Dances on the edge

So very close to love?