Another Love Poem
She seems a god to us, who stands on hilltops,
string tangled in her fingers, waiting for the wind
to snap the kite out of her hands. Scraps
from her kite making afternoon drift back to us—
snagged on wire, shredded in the bushes.
In the end, she coiled her broken string, walked
away from us. We mark the tracks her feet
left in the dust and try to follow her; her laughter
echoes back to us: I never thought to touch the sky