A seagull dives and wheels along the shore,
Adjusts its wings in calm and measured flight.
Brief skiffs of rain paint shadows on the lake,
A boy holds fast his wild and frenzied kite.

I long to leave this place; soar with the gull,
But something pulls me down and won't let go.
A distant voice that speaks in ancient tongue,
Not yet, not yet, there's more you need to know.

I turn my face toward the coming storm,
Still my heart and count in measured beat.
Comb my trembling fingers through my hair,
Refuse to let my mind admit defeat.

Amanda Edwards (c) 2014