The sun shines down as I swing my feet  backandforth backandforth off the side of a bridge made just for them, too small for cars [and in the wrong area too]                        as Mother once called it, when I was still too innocent to grasp what she’d meant,

“a bridge too low to throw oneself off.” Sitting here I remember her, and the days we used to come swing on the set in the playground that used to be.    Now, having only the bridge, backandforth I make-believe.

Swing my legs back solid-side and I lean against the wood, which, caretaker-less, has aged as much as she and I would have, combined.

Peering down into the pond, I see him rushing past the rushes and lilies floating, chasing the tag-playing tadpoles, the dragonfly longing for an answer to his challenge                                If I squint real hard it’s her looking back at me                    and

I want to stretch myself                                reach as far as I can         see if she’s real                 but this gap I know I cannot breach.

The sweat is running and a butterfly threatens to kiss me as the dragonfly’s still begging me to join                          he can’t understand that I want to soak up every minute with her I can.                                 One of these days I’ll win this staring contest.

Giving up, the dragonfly lands perfectly enough to walk on water             rippling through me and              myself. Game Over.                That which is beyond our control in this swirled world always undoes us                                distorts us right out of being.