If I am caught
hold tight the strings
against the seagull’s squalor

and tight against
the fading light. The children
shriek a sandy progress

and to my expedite delight
the winds that harness
heaven’s hurry take these

piercing shrieks far from me.
Far, far above the landscape
the corners of me

are lazy with cloud,
and as the lips of wave
against the shore, so I too

dance amongst wavy currents.
They who see me know not
the pleasures I feel, the simple joy

of elsewhere, always, endlessly
articulating with my very energy
seeking solace in the depths of soul.

And this is why, its got to be,
despite their hurry and their lolling
they can’t possibly catch me.