The Rusty Trampoline

The rusty springs inhale as we plunge

into the dewy soil

of my neighbor’s trampoline.

As the exhale propels us into the muggy August air,

I wonder, gazing into the deep portals of crashing waves perched under his long lashes,

“Does he feel it too?”

We collapse into the heavy breath of the tramp,

his hand brushes against mine.