If you are walking on the sidewalk
beside a tall building
and, arriving at a cluster of orange cones, look up—
or if you are working in an office
inside a tall building
and, turning to observe the view, find it sliced by taut ropes, swaying slightly—
or if, like me, you are sitting on a park bench across the street from a tall building,
and like me, your chin is lifted to the gleam of sun on high, wet glass—
you may glimpse the window washer riding his small, suspended saddle with his bucket and his wand;
you may see him, as I do,
in a sun and water glitter
swing to reach the high places,
lean way way back in senseless faith, and then, by rope and pulley miracle, descend.