Patiently, plane and glider chug across the Sunday space
for clear sky, the levels where the air is right
to release the tension between them.
And when the moment comes
the tow rope snaps its whip chord back
the plane arcs windward heading home,
leaves the glider to its own devices,
nosing thermals, spiralling down through cloud,
a homing pigeon testing freedom with a compass
whilst below,
Newark Castle erodes gently
by the slate smooth canal, the crushed glass river,
the width of grass and trees
where a man straightens his burning back
as his daughter pedals harder,
almost in control now,
wavering, straightening,
letting go.
© Rosie Garner
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