I couldn’t say whether the anonymous
Kite, loose in the storm, had a name.
And is deserving of one now.
And so, like a child
I turned out the light
With a wish.
The field, the wildflowers,
Sniffed out the alone of late summer sun
With a solemn oath.
The world is disappearing. Accordingly, the shadows pay less to get into the fair. I have seen the sidewalk cracks, the cracks in the wind, the wind in the void, the cracks in the cracks.
And the ghosts, they too had names, and this would be our poetry.