between the marsh grass and the dunes,
so I pulled it, though naturally
even out here you tend to wonder
about explosions these days.
Out on the marsh as I tugged
skull-and-crossbones stood up–a kite
with red and black streamers.
It climbed a little into the air so I saw
I could fly it if I got it high enough
to catch the breeze. And higher.
I had to get it right this time. Running
across Ferry Street sixty-five years ago
my first kite tore open like gift wrap before
I even got it to the gate of Glendale Park.
This is the way things will go for you,
a thought told me then, but here
at the other end of my string, the dog
dancing around for me to explain myself,
barking for me to tell him what it was,
the skull-and-crossbones dancing
up there too–if this is my banner, so be it.