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Kite by Bruce Morton
She was beautiful, decked out In color stretched, taut over Spar and spine, tail would dance, Shoulders and waist to the wind. There was a stability in her bows. My touch was never quite right, She’d rise when the line was tight Then twist when I let it slacken. To this day I cannot say for sure Who it was who played whom. Was it she who broke free in a gust Or in the toss and tug I just let go. |
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Bruce Morton divides his time between Montana and Arizona. His poems have appeared in numerous magazines, most recently in Muddy River Poetry Review, Ibbetson Street, London Grip, The BeZine, Sheila-Na-Gig, and ONE ART. He was formerly dean at the Montana State University library. |
Pictured is poet Bruce Morton.
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