Lampposts and crape myrtles,
The night-blue sky,
Loom and recede,
Loom and recede,
And the chains in their eyebolts creak their joyful song.
She beams under a floppy straw hat,
Describing an arc
Like the carpenter bees of childhood
Tethered with horsehair and straining for the sky.
We are all children once in a while,
Or ought to be.
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