i most love to climb
her poetry,
and rest my bones
on its uppest
branches
i laze in most grateful heap
dusted with fire ants,
chilled by trill of
wounded chickadees.
and watch on as one by one
word balloons float by
core of a mighty
sun,
i slip and fall each
time i fail to
grab one,
i love to climb
her poetry,
and do hope it holds
some affinity
for me.
