Unbraid your legs,

comb the meniscus.
             Miraculous

             how you endure 
your fractional

existence
             as a neon cayenne /

             micro-machine.
Oh, the distances

your tickle-legs
             will take you,

             nimble, like staccato—
your music

treading water.
             Here is a courgette

             and a tress
of algae on which

you may graze.
             You shall make

             a party of it
the way an electron

must dance
             in the presence

             of light.