Kite

A poem about escapism.

By Rakicevic Nenad via Pexels

Green was the day in pine-sheltered dew
All seashell walks and time-lapse views
Scattering shade in marble throws
That dips between the sidewalk rows

I stood in a field of waving strands
Wispy before my open hands
A ball of twine went to and fro
Only the breeze could truly know

This kite whose mesh had been plucked from sleep
A net from moments resting deep
Held aloft by the dreamer’s faith
Thoughts like boats kept wanderers safe

Cast to glide upon current’s reach
To forest floor and yawning beach
Of canvas sand and crooked brow
Cutting waves without stern or prow

I do not know where it hopes to rest
Encountering time’s very best
In storm and sun and wayward chance
Still it’ll fly and still it will dance