back and forth on the red and
black hammock in my backyard. Tied around
the tree, tied just like me to things that
don’t make a sound. Fast or slow/high or low
I’m lifted off the ground.

I swing
to the song of the robin bobbing up
and down in my teal birdbath. He drinks
and makes a splash, wetting his wings. Then takes off
for better things.

I swing
my head to the neighbor’s screaming
kids. As they’re breaking up this reverie
two squirrels hanging from my tree are batting at
the birdfeeder. Spilling the seeds on the ground
as it swings to the sound of the breeze.