BEING ON THE SWING

so we digress
into our yard
past the garden
fairies
stones
wooden bench
to the swing
sad and tattered
faded thing

you relax
into its frame
tell me
dad pull it high
not that high I think
mind’s eye
wandering

to the strap
around the tree
that rubs up
a knotted limb
everything is
temporal
no end to one’s
concerns

so when you
look at me
and ask
for a little of
my best
precious stash
of attention
it’s my pleasure
to say yes