Kite

Here's what I get for being a cross on a sail.

Here's how I jitterbug light.

I don't say it's dull, but mainly

I'm pretty uneasy up here-exposed and nervous.

Mainly I'd rather not fly

in one place with my tail traipsing down

like a dog that's been beaten,

like a cow shooing gnats.

Mainly I study the ground

just looking for someplace to land

without smashing myself to smithereens;

or stare off into the distance-

which is farther up here, and

clearer, and more empty than you'd suspect-

like a prophet without a vision,

like a corpse with some regrets.

I'm tied to a string. It runs from the fist

of someone probably knotted-up as me.

I don't say whose fault it is. I'm a kite-

I don't say anything-

waiting to be reeled in or cut free.