The ground feels steadier
but the air turbulences.
My head is higher than my feet,
and the rock solid tree trunks
that comprise my legs wish they
could project toward the top, instead
of downwards to foundations, roots
sprouting from toes and heel.

Squalls and calls float and flitter,
for the top is waverly and bravery
still eludes, but pipes remain and
I divert all liquid as best
as I can, my hand shakes
as we spill to fill.