Ballooned

D. Sauvageau

Have you ever lost all reason to dreaming?

Sometimes I dance with delusion and a meek magician's fancy, escaping into soft secret folds, warm and lilting, full with understanding.

Floating ever upwards, like lost birthday balloon cares.

I’ve never considered how much a stray balloon resembles a flagellating sperm, hunting through space in search of an egg. An errant balloon won't make it out into space of course, it will simply rise tens of thousands of feet, until the building pressure inside the balloon pushes outward causing it to burst. Like our human hopes, all crayon colored and red, the ascent becomes an inverted kind of falling - reaching a final resting place on a patch of wet cloud.

Then, those deflated gun-shot dreams fall back to earth, torn mangled and hollow, spiderwebbed and plastic, waiting to ensnare unsuspecting wings.

We are too often watching happiness float away.

It is easy to forget that all it was was lighter air.