A small pagoda monkey considers

by Devon Balwit

a feather, lighter than his lightest
leaping, barbules able to lift
a body beyond peaks, higher
than any stone-throwing boy.
The monkey curves the shed shaft
in his palms and dreams himself
above squabble and scavenge,
the light lazing gradations
of knuckle and vane, silvering
the Buddha eyes of his stupa.