The nerves are working,
Producing endorphins
The senses are heightened
Until they touch the sky’s ceiling
And bend back in again
Until nerve endings hang like jungle vines
Someone more experienced could swing from them and go far
How good they are at beating their chests
And picking ant holes clean
They know the jungle
And what to do when it rains
They have evolved to it
They have labored to become natural
Whereas I am still learning to walk hunched over
To stay calm when ticks are bitten from my fir
Bloodsuckers that they are
To climb the high trees without a tremble