Saturday, April 5, 2014


So here is a choka, another Japanese form.


I can't remember,
but I don't think I've ever
flown a kite.  You
kneel on the grass, absorbed by
the task of making
this winged thing from canvas
and some metal sticks.

I can barely contain my
excitement.  A kite!
A thing of wonder, something
to do simply for
the delight of it.  After
this long, dark winter
of wondering and sadness,
I am ready.  I
need to see something take flight.

And fly it does. A
few false starts but finally
up it soars, bright neon
flashing and flaming against
the flat grey sky. Kite!

I find myself jumping up
and down, swearing when
it dips to the ground, enmeshed
in the drama of
wind against weak canvas as
you quietly work
the strings below, catalyst
and comforter. I
cannot explain the tears in
my eyes, and won't try to now.

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