The Day My Kite Flew High As The World

Caught a blue day
On a sharp paper wing
Thin throat a-howl
Until the looped string
Broke with that strange
Updrawing weight
Of a new jealous wind’s
Stray trumpeting
Gone almost too high
Almost to glass
Almost as thin
As the last shard
In your blue orb’s
Sun struck glance
No longer you
No longer me
No longer see
Gone paper thin
A scrabble of ink
Through translucent skin

Your cicada heart

You are the silk
Of the daybreak sky

The night’s bruise fading

Summer is skintight 

The ceded shape
See-through and splitting

Watchful with
The shells of yesterday’s eyes

The husk of armoured life
No longer needed

Stretched autumn loose 

You ask, looking up
To see what I see
What is there left in the empty blue?

I feel the breath of wings

We drift far apart

As fast approaching winter afternoons

Castoff people

You scowl, with that wire coat hanger angularity 
At castoff people, cuffs and elbows askew
Hung on racks in rows marked clearance
End of line, stock discontinued, as if 
Evolution had reached a point
Where adaptation were, not now impossible
But moot, it is the phenotype that, so often
Sways the genotype, but now department stores
All look, almost exactly the same

One day, I suppose they will fuse my spine
With robot wires and cyanoacrylate
I will lay, by the crooked looming weight
Of an old ghost gum, who bent to weep
The noon still river, shades all who choose to sleep
But may only ever reach
in reflection

Still, we wait, a long season
To weave new lives and baskets
When with that swelling, whispered voice
The river rushes bloom