All at Once

After a period of prolonged apathy, I have returned. Now that there is no danger (hope?) of anyone frequenting here...I will post a many things I have concocted between times, and thus, maybe, I will take some interest in here again, and in writing things for here again.
Maybe.
From the Files of Fall '08

Swing

On a swingset I go back, and forth
with the rhythm of the creaking chains.
He waits for me, watching: I glide away
and arc back. We came to make a circuit of the park,
but I, as usual, got distracted:
I never met a swing I didn’t like.
He’s learned by now
my goal is not to make it all the way around
but to see if there will be swings.
So now he waits for me, and I go back, and forth,
glide away, and arc back.
“When I was little,” I say as I swing,
“I thought if I swung high enough, I could take off”
whoosh
“and fly straight up”
whoosh
“and land on the moon”
whoosh.
“Please,” he gently scoffs.
“You think that still.”
He is right;
but he doesn’t know how right he is.
I can tell, because he stands and waits, watching me go back and forth,
away and to,
waiting for me to put down roots like his
when I’m only trying to grow wings.