He bought and sold things, much like the man
who sold balloons in the park, fashioning them into strange animals
mostly fastened to wooden sticks, except for the helium headed ones
they remind me of you, floating high and lofty
out of reach, wanting escape from ties and pulling strings
drifting from the city moving countrywards
many are mesmerized by the migration
the fantastical triumph of levitation
they wait for days, years under trees
but not I, I am no longer drunk by
hot air and helium dreams