I watched the children in the corner park
amuse themselves on monkey bars. I saw
each swinging body ride a measured arc,
depending arm to arm on natural law.
(You cannot rush a pendulum. Its swing
is its identity, its moment set.
The gravity of earth plays everything
in terms of periodic minuet.)
No more can you condense into a week
emotions it took seasons to produce,
than you can push a pendulum to wreak
unlawful pace. There isn’t any use
in seeking the perspective that you need
at any but its own intrinsic speed.