Swift and graceful lemurs
occupy the canopy.
So swift, so beautiful
feet don't touch the ground.
Swift, graceful, beautiful
abreeze through treetops
too many to count. Here's one 
-but wait-
for whatever reason
the accustomed leap
now second nature
still breathtakingly acrobatic
fails. 
He has lost his grip. It happens.
The back-up branch snaps off in his hand
here's a real problem.
Floating out of bounds
free of any reference
leaving all that he has always known
he could be Major fucking Tom.

This is not a good place to be.

This moment caught in amber
his fall made slow motion
by proximity to untold danger
gives to his mind a power 
never experienced before
he is aware of himself as a spirit of the forest.
Whatever the outcome
he appreciates his position
the position of a lemur
such as he could not before.