Revisions

There's a kite zipping through the air, slicing the taste of March in two as it dips and circles above a little boy's head. The little boy is wearing a violet cap and yellow knee socks, and he knows that if he wills it the kite will stay afloat forever.

There's a name zipping through my mind, slicing my breath in two as it dips and circles and challenges reason. I'm wrapped in the innocence I haven't lost and wonder if I too can will my way into an eternal soaring.

The lights in the bar are dimmed to half past twilight and we swim together in a tequila sunrise, marveling at how simple it was to have grown up. We talk about work and earthquakes and the way the ephebic oath feels when you're the only one remembering. We talk about the people we have met and the romances we've fallen into. We talk about ideals we all still cherish and illusions we have tossed aside. We talk about our friends who've left for war and our distress that has returned from leisure. We talk until our glasses are empty and our minds are full and our clarity of purpose is tangible once more. And then we go home.

There's a dream zipping through my fingertips, slicing my patience in two as it dips and circles and reminds me of the promises I've made to New York City. I'm wearing disillusionment and two-tone shoes and know that I've regained the wind beneath the wings of my integrity.

I smile and blow a kiss to dawn.