THE KITE

Red, graceful,
Diving through the sky,
Pulling and straining
At the white tether
Reaching below to the hands
Of the pilot who holds firm,
An anchor to the Earth.
Each twisting swoop
Tries to release it
To the upper reaches of the sky.

With a sudden jerk
The kite pulls free
And soars momentarily
Until caught, at last,
In the wires overhead,
And stays,
Turn and fluttering in the breeze,
Like a butterfly
Caught in the web of a spider.