swinging

There have been a million little deaths

maybe this prepares us for the final one

but maybe no death at all is final

and the lives we cycle in and out of 

could teach us how to navigate all the death

the aging, the decay, the loss, the freedom

we are perched atop the branches

we are leaning over the ledges

getting used to looking down

getting used to looking up 

faced with choosing between ground and sky

only guessing what is on the other side

of each

the answers remain out of our reach

until it is time for the next phase

I hang out in the crescent moon, 

swing from the edges of it

getting familiar with the dark spaces

hiding when the sun arrives

safe under the cover of night