I’ll have to be careful, or I’ll end up making a habit of this lack of revision…
Elusive joy slid
Like silk under my
Front door and out, across the dandelioned
The steps past the pumphouse, over the horse-tracked mud,
Where it stopped and bolted suddenly
Up a Doug fir trunk,
Wound itself around the tenth-highest branch, waited
For a God-gust —
Flapped like a flag?
With no time to collect my thoughts,
I’d have to scribble a plan, standing
Between the roots
While the horses searched my back pockets
How would I climb up, branch to branch,
Without so much as a pair of tree boots
Or leather gloves?
I’d have to become a raccoon,
Washing my hands carefully.
Then I’d become a squirrel:
Pause to chitter of my ascent
Becoming narrower and narrower.
Then a song sparrow, small as an egg:
Flit the last three levels up and perch.
And all at once I would be me once more,
Bear that I am,
Cumbersome on such spindled height:
Begin a dangerous sway.
But just before I fell, I’d yank free
The unfurled silk, clutch the corners,
Raise my untried arms
©2009 Katherine Grace Bond