Angling

 

            Angling

The kite-flyer does not move

but soars, kisses the air,

makes vicarious love to the sun.

 

He stands patiently at the edge of the sky

unreeling his unbound self,

sensing the shifts of the wind

like a blind lover, 

and takes what shapes

emerge.

 

We are so far from God,

so near.

 
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