Looking up

Swing high on a clean white birch,
that bows and sways down the spine
of it's etched white trunk.

smooth to the touch
and so tuned are the movements,
that before I should stop -
I feel wind past the pitch
as I am tossed to breezes

such fine movements invite me
to moments of clarity
and invitations of confusion
as I rest in the outstreched.
Among the cover of shroud
and blinking white sun.