I stood tiptoe on the catwalk-
Fifty feet above.
Like a candle in the sky,
Only the crest of my head was caught
By the spotlights.

Would not dare to let go
Of the cold metal rails
That slid beneath my fingertips:
They were the only means of support
Up in this secret place of mine.

Looking up, my eyes were set
On the golden illumination of the auditorium
Which showered me from the dusty darkness,
As I was baptized by beauty.
“Get down from there!” They yelled.
But I kept on my way; you see,
If they just came up here themselves,
Here forever they would be.