Swung

This is my swing.
Push me, please.
I want to go just high enough
that the wind rushes in my ears.
I want to feel the air
ruffle the hairs on my toes
but before gravity kicks in
and forces me hard to the seat.
Don't mind me
if I put in my earbuds
and block out the world.

Where is the moon tonight?
I cannot see her.
That gentle breeze
cannot make sitting around
comfortable tonight.
It's still too still,
too hot, too heavy.
Abandon peaceful and gentle,
push harder.
Feel cold, merciless gravity,
defy him and soar higher.

We'll come down slowly, now.
As poetry writes itself
and will not be ignored.
Tonight is forgivable.

5.31.11