Kites

Written for the Muse Ariadne Project.

These are large and stringed things,
Beasts made for looming,
Catching wind.
Their eternal creep,
Made syrup by the vastness,
Must be at our small hands
For what wind could blow them
Doubly center-bound?

I can no more remember
What stray thought once brought us here,
And yet my hand still acts the tether
That will drive this great beast home.

Will drive me into you,
Whether you
Be bludgeon, blade, or crow.