I wish I had a picture, now, of that happenstance sun-down razor sharp toothed shark. Teetering and frantic on the wind at the end of some hand full of string. Flush full in a memory of love in a kaleidoscope book of centuries caught on a park bench. Steeled in those sandy fragments of worlds washed up by an ocean I won't ever hold a names for. This love is like summer kites gliding against skin. Fingertips tracing the delicate patterns of bones. Dancing the wind as fabric breaks and goes. These strings of mine bound--caught firm and tight--in your hands.