Boy in a Swing

            On tethers another hand looped and hung
     he swings,
            lifted out across meadow, horizon,
                        spire, battlement, tower,
            inspired, empowered
     by lung breath, by muscle tone, by push-pump
and a craze for dump-challenge,
      for the slackened chain
            that sucks back into itself,
                        lacking tension 
                                    and the jerk that reworks a bar
                        and drives him back,
                transcribing the perfect half-circuit.
            push-peak-slack
                                    and
                                                landscape,
                                                            and so we go,
                                                with you, boy,
                                        with all foster children,
                                    our motion chained
                              pendulum-like
                        in this cleft between hope and reason,
            all without 
                                pause,
                                                without destination,
                                    swing-step
                        ping
          through
                        season
                                                by
                                      season.