Awaiting whistling in the wind
as it swindles your kite tail
into the rest of the atmosphere
where it can swim and sway through the sky.
Sails catch thrusts off the ocean
pixilated by spicy salt and tactile moisture
the tail dances as it’s caressed and inserted.
Lighting strikes from cloud to kite
and our eyes are cloudless.
Rain comes to wash our kite, sails, and tail;
refresh the pale color to vibrancy
somatically expressing the thrill of salt:
a gift from nature to the artistic creation
of beauty, play, and pleasure.
My precious kite.
“String it up! Let’s fly again!”
Our eyes are cloudless and sated with
God in the captain’s hand
God in the kite’s extremity.
Reformed air.
Salt.
-Grant Durando
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