Her life is the wire－she can never come down． 　　Sometimes she stops and sits on it to eat， 　　even sleeps there， her whole body stretched 　　as the wire is stretched． In sleep 　　she keeps her balance， 　　feet curled like a monkey's 　　the habit of grasping： 　　she has never fallen． 　　She never will， not entirely． 　　Once in a while a slip 　　causes her to hang for a moment by her hands． 　　It isn't the danger of falling that slices through her dreams 　　but the wire itself， drawing 　　a line through her body， 　　leaving a mark on the soles of her feet， 　　her buttocks， her back． 　　If she were to cut the wire （she dreams of this） 　　the sky would break like a mirror into the sea 　　and nothing would be whole again． 　　Virgin of the Apocalypse standing on a crescent moon， 　　she is keeping 　　Heaven and Earth apart．