Once the air, then silence

Wind flickering out, leaves silent somewhere
on a forest floor, i swing motionless
the other swing is gone. …someone called my
name whispering a prayer, it fell to
earth much as dust falls through loose boards
in an old attic, the other swing is in
an old box. …who called me by name and ran;
i am old, the links of the chain are
silent and rusting, my hands have rust on them;
the earth is hollow beneath my swing
the soles of my shoes are worn. …they make
boards for attic floors from silent trees,
i sit on old wood, silent, holding the old box.

Copyright © 11/19/2015 lance sheridan®


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