Swings in the Dark

I sit, clutching to rusted chain link handles,

Next to you —

(A ghost) laughing and crying and staring strangely

At the bleached night sky:

Blurred, blinking and moving stars

That cross over each other

Like vanished pencil strokes.

And the swings creak rhythmically,

An ugly tune that calls to my past,

To times that slid by like diluted syrup —

Sweetness that seems so dull now…

My toes skim the tanbark gently,

Creating gentle ruffles to contrast the swing’s aching joints;

And the swing slows down every so slightly

As you watch me now stop and get off,

Walking out, turning into a silhouette, disappearing,

The veil of darkness hiding tears,

Falling as a silent rain.