I stood atop a tall pine, upon the very highest branch;
The place where a star would go
On a Christmas tree.
Needles rustled in the wind
that tossed me gently back and forth, but I
held my balance. In my hand, a string.
Attached to the string, a lizard.
I turned slow circles, trying to teach it how to fly
It lifted its face to the wind.
I let fall the string.
I heard you whistle yesterday. Sharp,
abrupt, one shrill blast like you used to do;
Breath forced between teeth, tongue, lips. Wind
in a lizard’s face as it tries to fly.
High atop that pine tree, standing in that place
a Christmas star would go, I had no idea
how to get down to the ground again.
The lizard was gone. Flown or fallen.
Free, or dead and just as free.
The wind gently tossed. How do I get down?
And I laughed, because I already knew how.
So simple. Even a lizard
could figure it out.
All I had to do was wake up.
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