I washed my gi yesterday
and heard the downsliding crying
the loneliness of an only kite
high in the pines in the rain.
This morning, the sky unclouding.
I walk and walk
cleaning the field of sticks
and crushed cigarette boxes.
I walk and walk.
Brown leaves carpeting the ground
turn lustrous and bright.
I walk and walk,
the field now blooms beneath my feet
little yellow flowers and clover
burgeoning upward.
Dewberries along the fence
grow full and black
not ripe until they fall into the hand.
A speckled hawk pauses in the pecan tree
and then it is gone.
My knees tremble.
I come to the porch.
A bright green lizard flashes his
red neck my way as though I were
a holy sight to behold,
the world exploding in
the warmth and afterbath
of yesterday's rain.
I walk inside,
two kites now
crying, crying,
call, response,
their insistent wanting
too loud, too private to bear.