Absent of every joust and thrust;
Beyond the perimeter, the calculated line, the circular haven of
any undefined tolerance,
a boy and his kite.
Eroded and fine-grained the beach. The lifeless inhabiting structure of a weak foundation holds the footprints of this perfect child.
Holy authors warn of sand,
A modern day failed infrastructure only recently having its genesis.
And every step dissipates within the present.
His kite effortlessly upward, then down, then gliding within beautiful silent seconds.
Grains of sand line the string in his palm;
Moving vertically to the fabric. The ancient antique an eclipsing sheet between naive eyes and infinity.
Every kite — a shield.
A shelter from our ancestral inquisitions to the mind’s sensitivity;
For the adolescent tunnel vision of content fixation is as sweet and essential and timeless as the waning footprints,
The brief lapse in interrogation,
The blanket from harm.