To look up
you might very well
get lost, so other
is the world above.
But look!
Take a peek…
Why not get lost in that
pull, like having a hook
on the loop of the belt buckle
along your spine,
a deus ex machina—
inviting you
into topography.
There is a point
to hot air balloons.
Just to look down
from above.
Not for me this time,
but forgive me, my naivete–
the sky weeps each night
at the end of the day, because
such precious stories,
such failures,
such remorse.
My God.
My God.
Your appetite for this
makes me take a pause,
and wonder..
I’ve been to the moon and back.
I would not wish that
on my enemies children.
What exactly are we doing here?