Suspended Time

They were lying there,

between two tired oak trees,

that old hammock,

sagging like a forgotten promise.

The sun came through the leaves

in shifting patches,

making the worn canvas

look alive, then dead.

I remember that feeling.

Being strung up,

not by choice,

just… there.

Swinging back and forth,

the same rhythm,

the same view of the sky,

the same ache in the muscles

from not moving.

Floating, maybe,

but mostly just stuck.

Waiting for the ropes

to fray, or the ground

to rush up.

Either way.