Kitestring Hearts

August 28, 2007

this day, this rawness
sinks into my skin
and leaves me craving
tastes and smells.

It is not the cold outside
that clamors and worries
at heartstrings stretched
across miles of gray sky.

The creeping numbness attacks, retreats.
The naked cherub on the shelf sleeps
and does not see
how close I am to breaking

it-or me, and which I choose
will not matter to either of us.
There is a stronger wind today
tugging at my soul, stringed like a kite…

Weighed down by gray stone cloud
and heavy thoughts, I do not lift
at the winds beckoning.
The heart’s fires are banked against the night.