It was seriously magic–
your eyelashes swept down
and covered with
ink so dark it was
infinite, you stood
on three-foot stilts–
back bent over the stream
built into the amphitheater–
post-rock floating
the concrete benches
your eyes blinked and batted as your hands
made contact with the other bank.
A human bridge,
my sister in costum,
strength flowing out of her pores
and flipping
her legs over the stream and into
the arms of her focused partner,
to yet bend again,
rise again, across the stage on stilts
and bones
covered with the muscles made of gold.