Between rail ties
& train abrading
the whirling banks,
you run in
the rose crush wind
with verdant feet,
up to blue aflame,
flying the kite.
Fabric shell rustling
in elegant streak
to negotiate gusts,
you write the sky,
steering love notes
with string.
When in symmetry,
what more is there
than the rush of lines
in the currents,
the tracks
& the stream?
Jessica Lee McMillan © 2021
