He did not look both ways, and yet

went unharmed by punchline

evaded bumper grille

some-how failed upwards

how-some gust of corrupted wind

drove him up

now he waves

from the highest branch of a baobab

I do not fear ascension

but lay awake at night

rehearsing plummet —

Tug of life’s bitter autumns,

the fall before the fall

Conciliatory trail of sap

as it gives way to palm wine

if I was free,

I would climb up and demote him

The weaver birds and owls

might cheer me on,

coded in their feathers, they make meaning, spell out liberation

plus all the other letters I’ve forgotten

to get to the other side