Both hands on the plastic bars.
The chalks smoothed over the surface and soothed his heart.
Eyes closed, he observed the invisible power.
Transfered from the mass of rubber to his hands, through his arms and shoulders.
He felt his white sleeveless shirt and pants tightened when his muscles warmed up in anticipation.
You’re not the horse to tame, he said.
You are the shoulders I depend.
The highest throne we would ascend.
———–
The last moment had passed.
From now on, his arms became his legs.
He lifted his whole body in the split of a second.
His feet clapped in the air as he began with a headstand.
Then like the blossom of lotus his lower body descended.
In the blink of an eye it started to swing above the saddle.
First his hands clasped on one pommel steadying his rotation.
The wild flower readied himself to leave the stem and pirouette.
Above the imaginary water surface by his will and strength.
With no hesitation he next placed his arms on both the bars to switch directions.
———–
A second headstand was there, his legs straight as scissors.
He loosed his gripped on the bars with confidence and welcomed the leather.
He switched his position on the length of the surface.
The neck, the center, and the croup.
The weaver criss-crossed his limbs and torso as though working on the most splendid patchwork in the world.
His glute, quadriceps, and calves formed the strongest spindle man had even beheld.
As the audience lost track of his movement, he finished with the last handstand.
His legs turned with his body as the pilot slowed down the propeller.
Safely he landed back on the planet.
A herculean statue carved in outer space.
———–
He savored the moment of barely sixty seconds.
Slowly he raised his body and received the pride and standing ovation.
He bit his sweat and clenched his fist.
Something he would repeat with a golden medal in front of his team.
River on Baltic Sea 
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