"Ah, but a man's reach should exceed his grasp,
or what's a heaven for?"
Robert Browning
From branch
to branch
and on to vine,
from vine to vine on down the line
and then to branch again, to swing
and sway with grace from limb
to limb:
it's this I miss when in the hall
I walk from end to end and all
that I can do is walk, not swing:
there are no bars from which to limb-
erly sashay and sway along.
Is it because our arms aren't strong
that we neglect to hang such rails?
Is it the length the swing entails?
But practice would make stronger arms
and maybe even longer arms.
Perhaps to grow prehensile tails
like spider monkey as he sails
from hand to foot
to tail
to hand
to foot is what we're missing, and
to mark some lanes, so those who want
to swing won't crash with those who jaunt,
and sporting satchels as we swing,
to hold those things we need to bring.
To my mind, we must act with haste!
I feel my muscles go to waste
each time I venture down the hall.
But, do palms have the wherewithal
to callus around like clocks' ticks?
Would that tail sprout from my coccyx?
Would my spine find relief someday
from all those popping vertebrae?
It may be that I'll never know.
The reach above my head grows, though:
imagination is my fate
until I
grasp
to brachiate.
