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.