At the end of overgrown paths

I take my halting rest,

Close enough to the main route that

Voices tether loose loops

To my ears, sliding free

As they march forward

Another few feet

Often I am hid at a vantage

Well above, as branches, as birds

I feel solitary, aware of limits

Shoulders to fingers

More ground than sky

I am tethered in a harsher way

Internally chaotic and still.