Kites

by Christopher Scott Baldwin

Diamonds of these verses—
windows with the threaded wings—
what news have you brought?

What of March?
What of his thoughts about spring?
Or does he feel more comfortable with winter,
when our clouds are slow and meandering?

By the bowties of your tails,
and your paper thin windbreaker bodies,
show us the swell of wind.
Take us onto your pentagons,
into the frailer seasons.

Show us that we have reason to be here.
That March shall not with his wield
crush us if he so cares.
Our clouds to fall like sheep wool to the planet,
and us fallen angels victim to circumstance.

Do we fuck and procreate in vain?

Must we kill off the little cloud,
for the larger water must eventually rain and dry?

Tell us, flock of kites,
that we have leeway to squash gravity
and remain the aerial.
Helicopters, like lawnmower blades, to remain below us.

The coming of April is the next morning.
The balloons have deflated..
Either we shall fall defeated like swatted flies
or fly like angels come spring.

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