Saturday, July 7, 2018

Kite season

I'm reading Sylvia Plath
by the pool, Balinese style
a dark edge we both yearn for

flushed and warm
flushed and warm

the sun, faded
rippled orange light
dulled from volcano
it smells like bushfires

from across the yard
a barong statue stares at me

tipping and leaning towards
the grotesque
its bulbous eyes confront
my insides

a kite blows mid air
its flaming tail
a majestic garuda
trailing across
the smoke filled sky