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.