Box Kite

The box kite floats high over the marsh. You follow the string and its
downward trailing arc across an abstract blue field past the curious
geometrical forms of white and yellow & a cloud of mechanical
birds that wobbles their machine trajectories through modalities of
falling & choose one & watch its fall toward the point of its
absorption as on another surface a human shape separates from a
cube in the ochre and green of the grasses, moving toward you
carrying two long poles each with a red flag. The forms moves
toward you then stop: flags blur hesitate, blur hesitate some kind of
message incomprehensible across distance and distortion.

The box kite floats high over the marsh. You follow the string and its
downward trailing arc across an abstract blue field past curious
geometrical forms of white and yellow, the line of time, the arcs of
things, life spans and trajectories, the tenuousness of focus, the thin
white thread and the glare off the water and the sunlight of morning,
the descending trailing of your gaze through oscillations of
foreground and background that slow as your viewpoint approaches
the rooftop you are perched on, the edges of your legs and naked
body & the string from the kite that is tied to your penis.