Simple string slips through, complicated fingertips.
Wishes, desires tied into the shape of, a single red balloon.
Thumbing a ride on a Sunday breeze,
Surfing its way over tops of rooted trees.
Winged aerialists delicately balanced on mirrored water,
The leavers dance, front row for a final show.
Doing what I can never find the courage to do,
Slip away, uncharted destination.
Through ragged linen flowing in the sky,
Past the saffron fireball,
Cautiously placed beyond the horizon.
Jul 2, 2014
Jul 2, 2014 at 6:50 PM UTC