The sloth gives nothing away
between grip and swinging states
those button blank eyes, bowed mouth.
Oh,
they still their canopied cares,
hang in supple resting wraps.
My pulse feels like an ocean
at high tide when the moon crests—
Today, I sloth—give my weight
to the branches I cling to,
allow for inverted thoughts
head turned to each direction
gently scale my space and time,
enter energy save mode
without guilt or assistance.
I move lento to largo
while the earth spins its course,
feel the stretch it takes to bend.
