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Who can swing higher or faster?
Whose feet come close to the gate?
Swing for the wind on your eyelids.
Swing for the love from the hate.

Five birds fly above the surface.
Two run away; no goodbye.
Two have been pecking and poking.
One falls right down from the sky.

She closes her eyes as she’s crying.
He licks the tears from her cheeks.
She knows that there is no denying,
The truth cannot clot all the leaks.

The feathers are flooding the streetlights.
The car cannot see where it goes.
She lets his hand fall from the clenching.
Her secret, her corpse only knows.

The ice truck has turned ‘round the corner.
I wonder if I’ll get a cone.
But what is the red on the bumper?
Why does that boy look so alone?

© Sylwia Wielgosz 2003.