A thousand balloons wrapped around
People aren’t supposed to fly
but floating is permissible.
It happens slow, just a little higher with his feet
dangling happily above the ground. I’ll think
he’s like my little ragdoll, ask “Are the clouds
very pretty so near?” and he’ll call down
“Very pretty and very wet.”
How that will make us laugh
and he’ll look beautiful as the
sun catches his warm balloons.
His lips will move, there’ll be
It’s just too far
He’s so beautiful
as he slips slowly into the
grapefruit colored sky.
Past the pink mountains, iodine-
saltwater is too familiar.
Then the balloons
will dip out of view,
the groveling mountains.