He stretches his body, air-bound silk,
leaping into a void shaped by bark,
the limbs holding up the green sky,
each vertebra a prayer of motion,
a lunge between lives, one branch,
then the next—we gasp, watching
his trust stretch, the winged membrane
arching like a whisper between trees.
Night tastes his flight, soft furred,
tawny against the moon\'s round face,
his ribcage bends, curving for flight
that lands as if gravity forgot him.
We, earth-heavy, marvel at his glide,
each leap a breath we cannot take,
a story told only the wind can carry,
his body flexing against its freedom.