Photo by author.
Photo by author.

By Ray Sharp
He was stopped at the lift bridge, waiting for the ship to pass through, right foot on concrete, left foot cocked on the pedal, just before the crossing barrier, wondering if it was red stripes on white, or white on red, like zebras. Familiar cry of gulls on the morning breeze, his favorite sound, the language of flight.  They called to the blue boat named Kiyi, like the little deepwater chubs of Lake Superior. To swim or to fly, always a hard choice, but in the end it’s got to be fly. Up goes the arm, ding-ding-ding.


4 thoughts on “Kiyi

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