Crosses, crosses everywhere
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| Not the knotted swing that inspired this poem, but close enough. The original is presently out of reach, due to heavy rain... |
An omnipresent moon to stare
Only edged with attitude and grief
An alienated atheist
Bears His burden brave
No pay-off for her penance
No promise to be saved
A simple swinging rope
Knotted up and down
A bar of driftwood snagged across
Hangs too low to the ground
Crosses, crosses everywhere
I see them in my sleep
Walking, running, singing, swimming
Swinging out of reach.
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