Bittersweet
Strong tree trusting, standing solid,
brokering bird-ant treaties, while
I, climber, gently finger roots.
I grow taller, crawling bark, leaves
forsaken for height. Stretching up,
noosing and tightening, I am
careful never to strangle in
my time-lapse sun-chase through twigs
bent, sometimes broken, creeping
only upwards, past the lower
branches, reaching light of my own,
with this supple, wind-waving crutch.
Strong tree feels me, red ants tiptoe
over me. I am comfy here
where birds squabble; where parasites
retire without once looking down.
© Matthew Joseph Johnson, 2009
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