swing

Swinging,
hands stinging from
the smooth cold chains,
body arcing thru space
thru April rain
thru curtains of memory
frozen for an instant, green
on green beneath gray,
the secret dark glow
of growing things and rain

the body remembers before the mind
the rhythms of childhood,
legs pumping eyes closes the rush of
wind in your face & how you almost
feel like you could fly...
you tell yourself you feel that way now
but you're lying
because you're not a child anymore
& you've forgotten what flying means.

but at each end of the swing's path
you hang motionless
frozen in time
laughing at gravity
dancing on the border between earth & sky
never & forever
before you drop back to begin
again
because you're not a child
anymore

but you're forgiven.