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.
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.