This afternoon I dropped into that easy sleep
that comes after pleasant exhaustion,
stretched open my rib cage and let my head tilt
against the fabric padding of the swing.
Body weight and momentum or some dynamic
will keep a swing going without any effort.
I found this out when I opened an eye and saw motion:
the ever soft lap of air against a stillpoint.
When I next awoke the dogs two houses down
had stopped their mad crooning and all the backyard
insects had harmonized into one fixed voice of lull.
The air was a different color, less yellow and more green.
There in that indistinguishable fold between daylight
and dusk when all the buzzing stops, abeyance
holds a tender grip. Then the pendulum starts its arc.
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