even without you,
the weight of you,
the wind moves the swing.
i hear the hinge,
the squeak of chain
and wood, the metal pin.
I can imagine you there,
out there
on the front porch
with the pale blue ceiling,
lying with a book
in hand, eyes closed.
I can see you there
forever, if there is such
a thing as forever.
I could listen all day
to the sound the swing makes,
knowing you are there,
adrift in the gentle sway,
pushing you towards sleep
in the sighs
of summer wind.
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