It was rather beautiful day.
She asked me to hold her kite, while she
Went to get more string,
And I stood as the sun carried me as high
As the lightweight toy of color,
Into the rays and their remarkable space.
She returned with her string and her smile,
And I thought nothing could be better
The breeze and memory I was about to possess,
Better than Proust in his closed off room
Or Emily struggling to recreate Amherst.
Sure, it could be art, or love in the city-owned grass.
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.