Once I held all
the balloon strings
of a few colours,
some shifted, popped
with the wind.
others burst with a shower
of gold
others swirled with translucent
smoke.
but a monstrous gale came,
snagging its claws into my palm
cutting my knuckles with hail
painting my cuticles with frost
and I cried out, bleeding in
the cold and crying,
stepped out of the ring
let loose all the tails
and  so ended
that particular
song.