The Girl On The Swing by Marck Prisco
The girl skipped off the swing
and walked away.
That swing is moving still;
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caught, I thought at first,
by a slow wind.
But its twin, the swing
next to it, is dead still.
I think that I’m lost
in the sky, the leavings
of a butterfly;
eyes upon the ghost
that once was a girl.
4-5 September 2015
