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He Ran up a Tree He ran up a tree when he was thirty -- got a running start and gunned his body up rough bark, legs pumping like a frightened squirrel. Still young, strong -- long on prowess, mammal in prime, he never realized, then, that time would toughen (that tree is long gone). He slipped, somewhat, when his old heart betrayed a younger shape -- now he naps, dark animal in a cave of thought, dreaming of wind, muscles and pulse -- and the faraway feel of rough bark.