Photo by louder on Flickr, licensed under the Creative Commons.

The plane swoops and swings in the gray blindfold
Free from the sun’s rebounds. I spool my kite
(Whose tissue paper’s paint bleeds fresh raindrops),
Towards the wind-spun propellers. Its tail
(The bows of cardinal) falls, tumbling
Against my contours, freezing my escape.

The sirens punched out screams. Close. Red-white-blue
Flashes of lights. The police ringed round me.
I was that lion cub, merely meowing
When iron bars were wrought. Whim’s harsh restraint.
The faces had noses, mouths, and eyes above badges
Starred with strings of firm, black runs of numbers
They were the intruders. “ Let me go.” “Move,”
Their words had burned red decrees on my back,
Black lines. The men with holsters roared and clawed
With pink fingernails. Push. My tears fell down
My craggy face, cascading….Silent, strong.
Dripping into the cracks where grass leaflets
Brushed, teased my nose. Concrete smoking my lips.
(The crowd carrying books cried aloud
But stayed their distance…) Night- cells detaching,
Like stones felled by a beating whip of fists.

If my feet could race from New York to Paris,
I would leap to freedom like the Eiffel
Tower descends hundred meters to ground.
And, throwing myself off the caged windows,
I would believe as I spiraled down past
The roots of bush beneath, launching into
A fine brocade of ivy (soil beneath pulsing
with seeds stretching into wispy flowers.)
I would then join the flowers, spreading my arms
To the velveteen burgundy petals,
Losing my memories in tight embrace.

When spindly thorns prick my glimpse of reality,
I fall eyeless like my bright kite above
And hit my present concrete of seconds…
The plane chases sunset’s fleeting fireflies
Westward and lands in shadowed cobwebs.
But I lie grounded and I cannot run
Any farther. My lips blow the dew
Clinging to rose petals away…away…
The sirens near with their stark barks, and I
Transform to but a withered stem of thought.