If you were a kid, you got a kite
And flew it along the Conodoguinet
In someone's back yard who didn't mind.
The wind took the line, yanking it away from you
Like a willful dog on a leash, til
All that was left
was the pink strand scar on your palm,
And a ripped blue diamond flashing in the sun.
If I dropped it and you did, you would watch a blowing
Handkerchief fall into the ocean and grab it for me.
It could wind up in the Adriatic someday, or between the dead teeth of
A pirate. But it doesn't matter.
Once you touched it you would hold your hand between the waves forever.
So many lines on your hand it would take.
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