Raveled
See the kite
assembled, tied, stretched taut
on a bone frame, its colors
a brazen flutter in a blue-white sky.
See the kite
coveted, owned, loved.
New-toy perishable love.
Kites are frustrating.
Without wind,
without a hand on the string
they fall. See that.
Or this: a dropped kite
sliced by leafless branches,
nothing more than worthless ravel,
the kite string
slithers along the ground
wraps mummy-like around
the tree that stopped its flight.
KL Griffiths 
For some reason i pity the kite. Sounds like a really lonely life!
That’s what I intended… glad to hear. Thanks for reading!
It made me think of a woman whose husband is cheating on her, or a child unloved by the hand that should love the most.
That’s what I love about poetry. It doesn’t have to mean one thing. You see well. 😉