For a kite, its freedom is the string

and the sky protects the mountain’s head.

The past has yet to teach us everything.

 

Birds will fly the nest to eat and sing; 

children shield their classmates with shared dread.

For a kite, its freedom is the string.

 

Once we craved the comfort dark would bring;

lately we do business from our bed —

the past has yet to think of everything.

 

How to keep a planet in the sky?

Who listens now to what is said?

For a kite, its freedom is the string.

 

When one is stung we all might feel the sting.

From heart to heart connections thread.

The past has yet to teach us everything.

 

Zipties bind the subject to the king

in this land where democracy’s long led.

A kite delights in the lightness of its string.

The past has yet to teach us everything.