‘Making a Seagull Kite’

We add Tyvek wings — of course he must fly.
We intend him to be tear-resistant,
water-proof. We check his spine and cross spar,
the bridle with its anchor points. Secure
enough, light and strong for support in winds
that could swivel or shatter him. We paste
on a beak and feathers with spray and salt,
aware he’ll ache and squawk. We darken tips
for extra protection from split and scratch.
We fill his beak with wit and wisdom, sure
he’ll swallow the sharp and relish the sweet.
We etch on as broad a smile as we can.

No doubt he’ll hawk insects on the wing, plunge –
dive, pitch and yaw, keel and tangle himself
in branches. He might unwind to the end
of his spool or even loosen his reel.
We glue it fast. We sense his thirst, the throb
of his wings, their fearless ripple and roll.
We stroke on a warm mantle, stout webbed feet,
lucid eyes, confident but unaware
how carefully he’ll need to choose his sky.
And yes, we know he’ll lift up this cherished
creation and paint the heavens. We loop,
fashion, fasten and cry, then let him go.