Sweet, sweet, sticky-toed palms are teetering, and I am playing with mind-spun pine as I sit. “Two go in," shouting a little further out but I can hear your wings whispering How obviously before I’d not have stopped to snap, A millionaire or more might have kept us apart or felt us a little wrong. In front of you, suddenly: a tightrope. Sun-blessed on a side but retaining extra shadows. I am watching you daring to ascend, tooth per tooth until new pine reached. More wisdom than I could offer and more stillness than contained in my breath. Wings whisper a little louder.