White Bird


You send the kite skyward,
Unknowing
If it will fly or fall.
Brush-stroked only
With a few ancient characters,
Forming a single word.
Still, it is an opinion,
A dangerous breath.
See, the winter branches have stopped it.
Fragile and white,
Wind-battered.
Silk and paper? Or a living bird?
It is of no matter.
The State will remove it.

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