jungle gym

Maybe now I understand how the jungle gym feels
when small feet batter its limbs:
the child's heels dig into the metal with security;
his feet lift from the structure, and return to it, joyful:
he may be bruising my thighs as he kicks off from them, arms encircling my neck,
to feel the rise of a wave from safety,
but I feel no violence enacted upon me.
Bouncing here, shoulder-deep in the sea,
I feel only the trusting tug of his fingers on my hair,
the warm kiss of his tiny lips as he clings to me
between ecstatic rounds of freedom.