the shape – curved metal hull, the facing seats
the frame - is instantly familiar
here in the gardens a small rescued fleet
sails me toward the shores of yesteryear
to the time when we had the landed house
the swing anchored on a sea of patchy grass
I rocked in its metal keel for countless hours
under skies of bunga kamboja stars
then redevelopment’s encroaching tide
swept us away from houses and from place
the old swings vanished – sold? or cast aside? -
and since then, I have seen them nowhere else
until today, when I commandeered a craft
to navigate the straits from present to past