Saturday, October 23, 2010

Kansas City


What bones of a winged bat
contort, as it folds, unfolds,
     hanging from a tree.

I am that tree, and that bat,
    is my son.

Sky blue, day break
    wind in pine needles, sway
cool ocean wave swept air,
 . . . scrubbed breaker caps.

Off to Kansas City,
leave a happy curious son and mother,
hanging,
 . . . as I head for another town.


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