Moon, Kite and Wings

Moon, Kite and Wings

And there 

above the roof 

of heaven split, 

the scratch 

and travel 

of a different kind, 

aloft in modern times, 

with pencil wings, 

silver fuselage, 

streaking in white 

and across 

the evening sky, 

and behind 

the slow, 

silver dark 

of a passing 

summer moon, 

in phases removed 

and reflected, 

reaching behind 

the temporary 

the here and now, 

the turn of months 

like chapters,

she rose magnificent 

her wings 

stretching, 

upon the last breath 

the heat invisible,

spiralling 

an unseen hand

uplifting, her last

shadow flickering

across the landscape

below, fields

and pathways

rooftops and gardens

choking roads 

and building sites

she passed 

and arched

over all

until…

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