Hammock

LAURA LUSH

New moon, night hushed to grass swish.
           A star trick-falls and a hound
bites his way through the dark. Watch this man
           swing in a hammock—life spent
in the cool liminal pocket of air. Slow twists
           of willow branch wheezing out
his time. Night birds rush overhead. The sound of
           a zippered wind. Gust and heart-pound.
Tucked away—an arrhythmia of emotion. I won’t tell
           you how easily it can stop. But for
the hammock. Ask that man. His swing secret.

(From Brick 85, used by permission of the author)