Wednesday, May 20, 2020

BINDING WHAT OUGHT NEVER BE BOUND

I've been trying to picture
after I'm gone,

a beautiful day—the
sun and wind and clouds,
the boundless light;

a kid 
in a field of 
overgrown grass, 

face knotted up 
in fervent delight,

holding tight to the 
string of a kite.

But it's no use; 
the harder I try, the worse 
it gets. The kite 

is not really a kite. 
The kite is a bird.

And this kid 
is not delighted; 

his face is contorted 
into a grimace, 
as if he's being forced 

in the absurd eye 
of an untamable storm 

to keep holding on
to my burden.