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You were born with wings. Jalal ad-Din Rumi
Where you used to be, there is a hole in the world. Edna St. Vincent Millay

Diamond of rainbow cloth, bent sticks
tail of ribbon trails behind,
all it does is scud along

unwinding its fat ball of string
while spring blows steady in our faces
park grass under us a sea

we run through, arms outstretched
like these blackbirds looping near
with their capable, unerring wings.

Suddenly it wheels and dives,
then climbs into the cloud-streaked sky:
a silk-clad jockey riding fast

or dancer costumed in bright sari?
Borne by gusts it rises high,
so much smaller far away

from us, feet tethered to the earth,
eyes looking up to marvel:
does a kite strain to be free?

Sometimes the string you hold breaks
and there's nothing you can do.
Sometimes people just leave you.

How tenuous all connections:
we are, far as we can see,
just holding on at wind's mercy.