Claire in a Swing

Baby-becoming-a-child,
where do you go,
rising and dropping back
like a pendulum?

Not joyous as I’d thought
after your eager cries
at seven a.m.
of “Park!” and “Swing!”

Instead of reaching out
to embrace the tilting world,
you retreat into yourself,
a faraway look on your face,

as if suspended from heaven
by a tether. Here is echoed
all your changeless swinging:
serene, you rise and sink

in crevasses of air.
I’d keep you back a while
but you have already flown
out of my arms.