Kite flying in the Spring of 1968

I am ten years old
and it is time to fly a kite

For what small change
I can squeeze out from
the small slit of my fathers
plastic change purse
I can fly a kite

Running to Parade Market
I make a list:
Kite
String
Stick
Rags

My sense of pride grows
as my kite fly's higher and higher
with each tug of the
long white string

Candlemas

Candlemas, February 2nd, the feast of lights, The commemoration of the presentation of the baby Jesus At the temple. More importantly it marks the Half way point of winter. Six and a half weeks Until the calendar marks the beginning of spring So much for the shadow or not of the illustrious Ground Hog. No matter, it's sunny today, seems like Spring.

bitter orange

The slow flapping of curtains

a half open window

the scent of bitter orange

carried in on notes from Brian Eno

and so the passing of winter

vernal hopes reach out

past the confines of my heart