The garden constructed our swings; scaffolding
that once bespectacled the house became a skeletal
tent, spelling out an iron alphabet. A letter
for each of us. We kicked away the earth, tipped
the world on its axis of falling blue skies,
and hurled our heads against clotting clouds.
I flew up to places no adult could reach; mosaics
of leaves, sun drafting emerald light in a great
lace umbrella. The city of blackbirds. Then
fell like a heart so curls scratched grass; blades
and blue spirits in a tea party where every rule
was bone china. Shadows winging the lawn-
and up again. A rag doll of elements; winded
by air and aching sky, I’d see the street below
rearrange itself, and pause to catch my soul.