Blondin made a fortune walking back and forth

    over Niagara Falls on a tightrope—blindfolded，

    or inside a sack， or pushing a wheelbarrow， or perched on stilts，

    or lugging a man on his back.  Once， halfway across，

    he sat down to cook and eat an omelette.

    Houdini， dumped into Lake Michigan chained

    and locked in a weighted trunk， swam back to the boat

    a few moments later.  He could swallow more than a hundred needles

    and some thread， then pull from between his lips

    the needles dangling at even intervals.

    I can close my eyes and see your house

    explode in a brilliant flash， silently，

    with a complete absence of vibration. And when I open them again，

    my heart in my mouth， everything is standing

    just as before， but not as if nothing had happened.