Climbing

I see your head poke

from a cloud of leaves;

your sap-stained legs dangle

beneath a limb.

Some days you climb further,

to the high branches,

frighten sparrows

from their narrow perches.

In winter you are easily seen

carving graffiti into the bark

with your laser eyes;

four initials and a heart.

I am content to swing low,

absolve myself with hemp,

twist tight, let go,

lose control.

tk/August 2013 

Thank you, R.A.D. Stainforth, for this beautiful read. 

Jeanie Tomenek 

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