In the lacey laberinth of leaf and limb
lies a path to nest and nuts,
unmarked, but to those who know the map.
Up the trunk, out on the branch,
tetering on a bending, bending, bending twig,
s t r e t c h i n g o u t
across the cirrus,
flying up-out-over
to cross sixty-seven feet of dirt.
A fifty second earthbound scamper
avoided by an five minute, Everestial trapeeze
along the stone bordered roads in the canopy.
Ask any squirrel.
He’ll show you.