AERIAL

Secrets scattered, like kites floating amok
on sunny, cerulean felt.

They rise and fall, arching to smooth manoeuvres
of practised fingertips.

Tug, tug, tug, there goes down a red one
with yellow moons for eyes.

I never learned to fly kites, ride a bicycle
or swim in choppy waters;

That's a haunting sight—giant seas breaking into silence
on stony promenades.

Glass in my eyes, cups the salt water with grace
carving icy sculptures,

Of kites racing to find homes in alien planetary bodies
and drooping gently on unkempt roofs.



IN PURSUIT

If I could catch the green lantern of the firefly
I could see to write you a letter.
                            ~ Amy Lowell

1.
to befriend language
into an intimate understanding
so you could unravel
what I fold in its layers
           an art I have
           yet to master


2.
a wisp of cloud floated
through my window tonight
           I pricked it with a fork
           hoping for rain.
but in the hour’s argent light
it faded—and I watched.


3.
trying, retrying
to not merely touch the wind
but hold it like water
and let it slip through pores,
so lightly visible, stirring
silent pools of blood and milk


4.
nighttime is the perfect cover
for thieves and lovers


5.
now and then—
in the flicker of a matchstick
half phosphorescence of your face
          the night is also refuge
          for desire's lisped syntax