I can understand that sitting would be
more difficult, and the sleek verticality
undone, but imagine the wag of happy
anticipation, the shimmy of pleasure,
ease of balance across a log above
a gorge, the prehensile joy of flying from
tree to tree. Vestigial bone, I know you
only when I fall, the runt of memory
shocked, the wild days of prehistoric thrill
and exhilaration coursing in my shrunken end.