Tonight, we see a gibbons moon
swinging its rounded way from star to star
on invisible thick-furred arms
adrift in the weightless air.
Back when we were born in our separate years,
each emerged just after the moon waxed full
our mothers knowing the roll into life
a chaotic revolution.
Naked and hairless, but already fast
ready for the fruit of brachiation,
we reached for the tallest flash of light
ticking through branches.
Our long limbs would carry us tree to tree
each five-fingered clutch an anchor above the fray,
always the detached and distant view
where patterns emerge on the surface of a world below.
Mistaking the companion route for the only way
the darkest carved-in road across the planet,
we mistook a line for a limit
and encircled our world with a link
bonding like the most intimate of primates
twining our songs in vines
that could not bear our weight.