Shout into the leaping wind
alone by spring lakes
On muddy paths, yellow grass
stamp, laugh: no one
to hear.

The water, water, dazzles;
dark winds
pluck its feathers
splash the hissing reeds.
Birches lean on the air.

Lean into solitude
you whose joy is a kite
now dragged in dirt, now
breaking the ritual of the sky.