The Winds Of Cape Elizabeth Poem by Peter Morton

Deltas and diamonds,
boxes and dragons;
on this perfect day
a congregation of kites
rise above
Portland Head Light.

I am no stranger
to the sweep and tug
of joy, nor to how
thin a piece of string it
takes to bind
longing to another's will.

The excited young boys
who run headlong
dragging their paper
dreams behind them
are oblivious
to the secrete life of kites.

'Fly, fly', they cry,
as if kites needed
any excuse, as if wind
would pay any attention,
as if their own wills could
make their spirits soar.

As for me,
I am become prayer,
a little red dragon
ascending,
clasping my arms
around the invisible.