He would build us kites
from the newspapers funny pages-
dull colored newsprint,
a bit of wood and a roll of string,
the kite would soar into the wind
and we knew
he was magic.
He would let us hold the spool,
the string tied to the kite
already out of sight
in the odd half light
of a west Texas spring late afternoon.
I would feel the tug,
urgent and insistent,
as if I could be pulled from the earth
I woke this morning
feeling that pull
that urgent, insistent pull,
from almost sixty years ago,
into the spring light,
This is beautiful, especially the spirit rising at the end.
A beautiful write, the close touched my soul.