Stepping up with 
one good leg I
make work of light and 
lift my bale, hoping 
under all my thought
that up is up and 
not a fall disguised
by some mean
trickery to make me
see the road ahead 
instead of down
before I fly with
tissue wings that 
cannot hold. 

Stepping down I
shift my load to give 
away for other arms 
the burden of my
thought and knowing 
little seeming more 
like fogging up the 
air where high 
things live and so
I doubt the down
and pause to 
ponder, adding to
my weight then
climbing when I
meant to drop.