Houdini
The knot is never the same,
nor the coiled rope,
clasp of the lock,
hold of the box.
Different, too,
each silent fall,
slam of water,
weight of the sea.
It is never quite the same, you see.
I, too, am changed,
wriggling, still,
lean or fat,
twisted, straight,
altered by descent and ascent,
fallen and raised,
fat head singing:
escape ... escape,
as I slip the knot,
shed the coil,
trip the lock,
erupt from the box,
from the sea,
to the air,
to the sun,
to the cry of the crowd,
to me ...
with a drum in my chest
to number the days
til it beats, once again,
in the sea.