She flitted gently by his head.
The slight bow noted, the sorrow that was there
But perhaps not heard.
She knew he had to hold himself up
All this time
That it was the only way
And yet she could discern the hidden
Effort that it took
To rise against the gravity,
In times where drought of hope
Again and again and again.
She understood the energy required for
Making the Herculean appear effortless,
To constantly correct
The wobble under
Winds and strain.
She hovered for a moment
Letting a space of permission
Before she landed, feather-weighted and,
On his chest.