FIRST PLACE
Kites (Form: Minute)
By Jeanette Oestermyer
Roswell, New Mexico
I’d love to fly into the sky
away up high
just like a kite
til out of sight.
A string attached that someone holds
collapse in folds
when seized in trees
by biting breeze.
Perhaps my choice to fly above
my cloistered cove
a gentler path
less apt at wrath.
Copyright (c) 2003 for
the author, all rights reserved. |