I stand on tip-toes
and lean just-barely-not-too-far-out
from my perch, anchored
by one hand gripping the trunk,
the other shielding my eyes
from the light.
I glance around and wonder
where I’d be and what I’d be doing
if I’d climbed onto
another branch
of probability
radiating through my life;
how different would reality
appear to be had I not let this branch
remain entwined with yours?
