Kite

I’m thinking about this kite string
wound round my wrist, the uplift
of a dragon or dragonfly tugging
me along the beach

nice not to plod through soft sand
or navigate rocks and mangrove roots
nice to drag my heels like Bedrock brakes
or give in to fakir levitation

I’m thinking about the end of the island
that spit of sand where two opposing
currents grind diatoms into molecules
and tug at the ankles and calves

nice not to worry about rip tides,
random fishhooks, and broken whelks
nice to feel my thighs, belly, shoulders
bend forward, into, and under the surf

[RK, 4/18/21]


Foxed Mirror in the Recycling Bin

Your face, funhouse distorted, the first thing you see.
Your house, behind you, minimalist as always.
Your garden beds, trampled by tamed deer.

Your sewing machine humming with evidence.
Your breakfast dishes, washed and dried.
Your inspirational cup of first flush tea.

Your vision for the future.
Your hair lit from behind.
Your collection of talons.

Your eager eagle-eye.
Your inspiration.
Your pericardium.  

[RK, 4/18/21]


Stringent

Unglued,
you light the papery fuse
and throw firecrackers
as far as the eye can see.

You question your motivation.
There is no motivation.
There is only this hum of
plant life, holding on.

[RK, 4/18/21]


Strategy

I feel entranced and entangled.
Time heals all wounds, but sometimes
we bleed into the comfort zone.

I literally lay my cards on the table.
“Go With The Flow,” how apropos
under these pine tree circumstances.

I’m remembering a mountain at night,
fluid constellations prickling me
like strawberry hedgehog cactus.

It’s a comforting thought among
all of these disclaimers and dismay.
Will there be a sequel, I wonder?

[RK, 4/18/21]


Attempting to Understand my Current Fascination with Seashells and Binominal Nomenclature

Everything needs at least two names,
excepting celebrities and magicians.

Once upon a time there was a ‘plus’.
Once upon a time there was a ‘minus’.

Today’s obsession is no different, I’ve
merely moved into the exoskeleton realm.

Realm once meant something different,
intimate, sexual, and expansive.

Now split bivalves remind me of that place
that once joined us, before we became curators.

Once upon a time there was a ‘plus’ and a ‘minus’.
Now we hand each other ‘not equal to’ symbols.

[RK, 4/18/21]