the box kite
limp in hand
held above my head

a desultory flotsam
of paper and dowel

careful now
perched on roof
close to trees
malicious branches
ready to rip

braced
not to slide
down the tiles
in ignominious fall

arms burning
feet precarious
skin clammy
sunshot squinting
waiting…waiting…waiting

the wind pushes harder

then the kite
lifts out of my hands
…gently

at first, then
s t r e a m s up
whirring and flapping
in the torrent above

the line tautens and
strums in vibrant
finger-throbbing
excitement

oh my

exultant soaring
artlessly dancing

debutante