My hope is a kite,
and grasping even the tiniest 
length of string,
I run. 
I run and I run,
watching it soar to the sun.
And I don’t listen
when they say the string is inadequate 
or the fabric is too light.
I don’t heed the warnings
that if I keep running
I’ll run right off the edge of the Earth.
I can’t hear them
for the thumping in my chest
and the rustling of the grasses 
against my legs as I race.
My kite soars,
I’m grinning, and suddenly,
I’m airborne.