My heart by day becomes a kite:
mornings, longing for the heights
it slips between restraining ribs
and leaps into the sky.
A flimsy vessel, rainbow-bright,
it doesn't even realise
how easily the winds tear wings
from kites, how hazardous such flight.
Released, it dances with the clouds,
and flirts with birds and butterflies -
my heart - your kite, and in your hand
the string, to hold or sacrifice.
For love of you
and joy of life it soars;
and folded safe inside,
it hovers in its frame of bone
and dreams of you by night.
Heart
© Copyright: Jena Woodhouse, 2003
Свидетельство о публикации №103102500292
Свидетельство о публикации №103102500292
Рецензии