Will viewpoint shift with my spine’s slow
compression, or will this

window admit only true images
in the shortened days to come?

I pencil phrases on bone-shaped kites
and release them to the afternoon.

Call them prayers, name them moans.
Each string is a regret freed, a separate

skeleton, let go. My two selves shudder
in the attempt. I await the perfect breeze.


“Kites” first appeared here in July 2016.

15 thoughts on “Kites

  1. I read the title as “Kitties,” and was initially somewhat challenged by the text. However, I watched carp and perch swim from above on a dock end today, and I’m breathing pretty gaily to an image of fish bones flying in the wind. Somehow I’m still reminded of backaches.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. “I await the perfect breeze” is a thought provoking offset, like the third line in an extended Haiku. I notice your poems often end with these. I like that. I tried something in that vein, calling my poetry American Haikus at one the time, but moved too far away from the form to be credible. Fine poem, this.

    Liked by 1 person

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