Mistress (2): Teeter-Totter

Mud around the ankles, like a first beard filling in.

Toes dimple the mud. Trough-like

sleep lines.

Pink carriages along the cheek.

Arms wide, I do not know

if she was mother or semaphore.

Invariably,

some daughter pushes off, her skirt

parachutes; the mew gulls shrink.

At either end, it is dawn. The night’s dew crowns

the cartridges our feet have made, heel divots,

each meniscus

bronze with low daylight.