Kitestrings

Kitestrings

 

The kite soars as string unravels to oblivion.  

Winds sometime steal the soar. 

Where does the string go?

Like so many jets watched sitting

in the departure lounge?

untied stories that just disappear

with a lingering smell of kerosene

 vanishing into the clouds.

 

I can’t ever look at clouds long

because they never stay long enough to

 know them.

Plump pliants ever changing

with lofty winds unfelt by stoic trees

 down here.

 

Here is worthy consideration,

rooted yet in another unknown,

Trees feel constant.

Steady like friends I made as a kid.

 

I’ve watched them as a kite string

spinning their life out reaching toward furthest heavens

grounded to me only until winds make claim

 

and with a clean getaway

clouds shapeshift

into new disorder

while reality

over a loudspeaker

calls me to boarding

flight 451 to San Jose.

-        Jerry Wendt 2013