Swings

-------Swings-------

There is a tree

in a forest
not far from here

where we can go

and play for 

days 

on end, on swings 

set 

by one we have not met, but know well

in Intuitions

kind of way.

This tree holds

every fruit and every nut,

every bruise and every cut

that we gathered as a child when we knew how to smile,

even when we fell down.

There is every stone

and river to it thrown,

and the waterfalls that started this all,

a long time ago.

The leaves are of colors and shapes

that our tools cannot create, but

that our creativity cannot escape

trying to match their majesty.

There are beautiful beasts in the branches,

and many others there too,

climbing

through the clover fields, up the sunflowers and in the patches of the rue.

There are the callused ethics of the common man,

and each sacred acre of common land,

carved like poetry 

into hands and into the bark.

There is every Love that has let us go,

and all the love we have yet to sow.

Our friends, our fellows and our foes,

and all those we have yet to know.

This tree is not too far,

you see.

The forest is
here,

inside you and

inside me.

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