T r o u v i l l e

The journey yielded nothing.
We had driven through
Les Payes du nord
but the landscape offered nothing
to subscribe to.
Then we came to Trouville
and walked the beach
where a father and son
grappled with a kite
in an erratic wind
which drove it down
and crossed its lines.
These they undid with patience
and skill and sent it
once more into air
as if the truth of the day
lay in the act,
as if surfing the rough currents
hinted a measured defiance
of the wind
they rode with some success.