The Sweater Kite

(2008)

My worries are a sweater knit
of a fine red thread of fears;
I'll admit to tugging at a loose bit,
instead of tying it off like our mothers taught.
It unravels in my hands.

Another tug sends more and the sweater
changes form, losing shape.
The wind catches hold of it,
and the sweater takes off like a kite
and I, chasing after, grasp the end helpless
like a child holding fast to the kite's string
in a vain attempt to bring it home again.

The sweater is a breathing thing
pulsating in the wind like the breath
in a heartbeat. I pursue, climbing
as it finally is caught in the branches of a tree.

I lunge for the sweater as it frees itself
and falling -- but not landing.
The sweater kite bears me aloft to a distant place
far from everything else.
Will I ever see the familiar again?