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He Ran up a Tree

He ran up a tree
when he was thirty -- got a
running start and gunned his body
up rough bark, legs pumping
like a frightened squirrel.
Still young, strong --
long on prowess, mammal
in prime, he never realized,
then, that time would toughen
(that tree is long gone).
He slipped, somewhat, when
his old heart betrayed a younger
shape -- now he naps,
dark animal in a cave of thought,
dreaming of wind, muscles and pulse --
and the faraway feel of rough bark.