by Michael R. Burch
Windborne, lover of heights,
unspooled from the truck’s wildly lurching embrace,
you climb, skittish kite . . .
What do you know of the world’s despair,
gliding in vast solitariness there,
so that all that remains is to
Only a little longer the wind invests its sighs;
spread-eagled, as the canvas snaps
its white rebellious wings,
the houses watch with baffled eyes.
Copyright © 2017 by Michael R. Burch.