just

in sun-dampened days the backyard swing
lies placid under a cold fall rain, plastic
seat shiny and clean

blessed be the backyard where
the noises of my time turn the self
outward; where my daughter
and I sing Pete Seeger's Hammer Song;
where the moon illumines the cantata of plants
thick w/fluid and green noise in my memory

I return in sleep to my child
digging in the sandbox; we tell each other
stories, track birds across the sky;
the dog chases squirrels on the wires
overhead, and people rowdy walk down the street
on the other side of the wood fence
where we cannot see

Winter is black and white; these days pass
like water in a fat pipe
no one should ever give this up, or be forced to
true love should be just—remember this
if nothing else


Reflecting the time on Bryn Mawr Street before and just after BB left me. Paige and I spent a lot of time in the backyard. She loved to swing and we would sing song while I pushed her up as high as she wanted to go. Those were perfect times.