Your snaking string strolls out of reach.
Detached forms here, where once coexisted ground and buoyancy, an anchored ship.
I jump once, twice in my powder blue sneakers, feet strapped in for landing, rubber of soul.
Soles, the striped or floral cushions under which we find straggling minted coins, crinkled transparent candy wrappers and rough/smooth terrain.
Gravity wrestles with my momentum.
His bony fingers curl around my grazed ankles amidst the heady scent of cherry blossoms,those lacy bursts.
I imagine you will be dashed in hail and rain, the malaise of storms, helpless in your vertical lift.
Past is your reflection in my eyes, the colour of your red coat, a pretty envelope for air, a plain chord of a wrist bracelet.
Your expanded form, so light, here with me, at the horizon's edge.
Reduce, shrink you are a single crimson dot.
Calms of cerulean skies open to you.
Deceptive is this singular perception of dot and calm,
even as you coast and dip, unfettered, light- catcher in a satin skin.
You are a dark blood red reflection spreading in the eye of the approaching hawk.
The arcing graceful swoop, rudder in wings, natural flight, suggests an avoidance of the floating anomaly in her aerial zone.
The new red balloon continues the ascension nonplussed.
Inflated balloon, the sky is no limit
Read-past tense
Pop!
Copyright 2014 all rights reserved Donna Thompson
You can get my book here. :) o or print copy on my site listed above. 
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