To the Squirrel in my Backyard
Do you fear such heights?
Body weight cumbers flimsy vine,
Lodged at porch-sight, your canopy highrise—
agile feet shutter tree branch skirts,
invite the morning to lick its leaves,
amber glistening forest satin
as you leap, pray the next leaf
a sturdy dwelling.
Do you doubt your footing?
Dash across tightrope
aged by yesterday’s rainfall,
you forward thrust, a mindless certainty.
Trust in fate and veteran instinct.
Vertical leaps, your playful ascend.
Your acorn cove three branches high
and I wonder:
as you survey my inhabited ground,
do you envy my planted feet,
gaze up, questioning?