The Chase
I tie a word to a kite, string
up
it, chase it over
and through
sky's river. Rushing
clouds batter, edges fray, fade.
Body begins to lose
ground. Refusing
the pull
of gravity,
I pen a new law, send it out
into the wind. They meet, mate,
match wits. Neither wins, but the idea
glides
slowly back
into my fish.
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