Swing

I don’t know from where

these ropes descend –

I can’t see that far

into the blue depths.

I sit on the wooden seat and swing:

forward and back, up and down.

When the swing slows down

I can feel pieces of cloud

still sticking to the top of my head.

When the swing gains speed again

the tips of my toes

touch and redeem

the sinking sun.

As it starts to darken,

the moon, slithering down the ropes,

drips all over me.

Upon my body, shivering in the cold,

one by one, like pearls,

stars bloom and cluster

as the swing speeds.

Forward and back, up and down,

everywhere

my lightning charge.