Tell them not everything is illuminated

I could have disappeared sooner, walked out the front door – the dishes still gleaning from their washing, the sun slanting but not yet shuttered. Tell them not to look for me, I left in my best dress, blue and ending below my knees – it’s summer where I am. When I move, I spin gold. If they wonder how I am, say I am on a swing, feet reaching into the night sky – what can they offer that will compare?