Once again, delightful squeaking swarms the trees,
celebrating en masse, here to there; chucked down
by some suspect deity who, for whatever reason,
laments or teases my petering out; my “it is what it is”

Rescued, again, by one with a scratching voice;
compelling a lifting of chin, a prying away of eyes
from ground, from monitored, measured steps;
I search the canopy for Joy: There! She lingers!