13 April 2013
Paper Kite (revised)
ITS tail was ripped from old bedclothes ― a train of crude bow ties. And since it was cloud-sheering windy, we made it royal-long ― almost convincing each other she’d fly. The maiden flight was short ― and bitter: the scatter-brained store-bought parts looping in crazy eights ― flashing infinity signs. NOW dangled upside down like the escape artist in his sack, tangled by its tail in the still- bare limbs of the old black elm, the distorted diamond quivers and crackles ― there ― unreachable. AND so we await the slow ― but certain ― secret curtain of summer ― then all the stripping done by fall ― to be unveiled there for the winter view ― no Houdini ― just the spine and the spar of a balsam cross.