Cut the engine so
you coast past
the largest sycamore
and then roll slowly
while the heron steps
precisely one foot then
the other, shedding algae
like spring molt.
In stiletto symmetry align
yourself so that once
both of you take to the bridge
you’ll lift with ease: balanced
on the barely beaten
1-2-3-4. You, in the perfect space
between bracketed feet, clinging
to possibility and knowing
in the back of your mind
that to look earthward is
not to fly at all.