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

Salt & Amber

A pint of colour, please

An away look in your sky

A fled kite’s isoscelean wound, diminishing 

To a hard black vee 

Storm cloud frown

Storm cloud glee

A string with bows, penanting

Small change, wet

On stain-blacked wood

Dull as eyes

As if it harboured a new dis-ease

Cigarette burns, sidelong glances

Wan as chartreuse evening

A worthless treasure found

Behind a temple’s shouldered offerings

In the glimpse, in the glass

Amber, salt, returning