Her back is an ecosystem,
algaeic and wrapped
beneath a canopy-s sun.
Arms forever up and out
above her head-she is
this tall. No height,
no dangers below,
will blanch the beast;
she sees no fear.
A fall will seldom kill her.
Nun ordained to pliancy,
she-s slowness made devotion.
The monkeys run
right by her, skitter-shows
their onus; harpy hawks
with sudden plucks
plunge, their hunger flown.
It is true she cannot walk
-when basic need or poor luck
grounds her, she-ll have to
pull herself along the muck
of forest floor. So she hangs,
even after life, from branches,
fool-like, face to sky,
her backward-growing
coat a woolish habit.
Even at the tops
of trees, she blends in.
She is cool, and shy seeming;
Her cry-s a sure ai, ai.