A Day Among the Kites
I can't tell what will happen,
being the eye of my own storm
where everything appears calm
in the glare of sunlight above,
the silence of whitecaps below,
thoughts like gulls seeking harbor.
Even the deceptive view
of the kites that beckon me
into the thermals while the tails
chatter in the breeze that echoes
from one cerebral hemisphere
to the other and back again.
Then once more through the eye,
the inviting sea far below
so close to the edge of a
conscience that sleeps in thunder,
Turning in my water wings
when my hands let go.