reaching for, stretching my arm out,
                      tendons stressed and muscles pushed past limits,
just for a grasp, a chance at
at what?

     i’m sitting atop these gangly branches
           unaware, no, uncaring of whether it
even cares to bear fruit or not.

    and what if not?
                         do i just remain, scratched by bark
and questioned by irritated leaves.

   even if i did want to jump down
to the soft and warm green below,
             my hands are shaky
and i fear the inevitable crunch
     of my ankles, that i do not move.

    as forlorn as i am to admit,
               my lives do not extend past 1
   and neither does my ability to land safely.

    is that why i can never catch what i’m chasing?
because there is no mouse without the cat.