Brake my step
Pic courtesy -favim.com
unbuckle my bones
fix my flesh
to the telluric mines
blow my heart
to the canopy’s wind
shower apart
all error and lapse
raise my hands
to the drums and bottles,
into the arms of
airplane swift
magpies and winged –kites.
keep my heart
slow and soft
like sketched
and patterned
cloud
and cloud movemen...
Saturday, February 28, 2015
Friday, February 27, 2015
Is it ok to tell that you own my breath?
Kites rise high. They fall. Sometimes they get blown away. They disappear. Kites get lost. We cry when things are lost. We cry when things that we love are lost. All you need is some determination, if you want to find them back. Things don’t always disappear completely. They leave you something behind. Like kites. They will leave broken strings on the ground. Or its tattered remains and torn sau kola, entangled on a tree or in electricity wires. I remember how buckets hung next door were destroyed last year....