Enough

Swing me low, in your God-shaped arms, close to the ground, so that I might see her chest rise as we pass. Catch me up, my sorrow, cover it up, with the warm breath that passed through your heart before growing your lungs, up throat, over tongue, white teeth, your lips. Carry me now.

I am all pieces and angles and weariness. Past curfew, past expectations, past due for a safe place to swing, and breathe, and rest.