Someone had looped a rope over a branch
and made a rough swing for the birch tree
next to the river. We passed, walking and walking
into our new love; soft, unbearable dawns of desire
where mist was the water’s slipping veil, or foam
boasted and frothed like champagne at the river’s bend.

You asked me if I was sure, as a line of Canada geese
crowded the other bank, happy as wedding guests. Yes,
sure as the vision that flares in my head, away from you now,
of the moment you climbed on the swing, and swung out
into the silver air, the endless affirmative blue,
like something from heaven on earth, from paradise.