I loved you once, and then, then…
my heart was a hot air balloon.
Tied with nylon rope, I awaited the unfastening and release
when I longed to be lifted high and to counter the gravity of sorrow.
The ignition of a flame lifted me up,
and, with passion burning,
my sandbag tears
and lifted meter by meter until I was captured by the zephyr
on which you carried your whisper to Elijah.
Gales took me around the world and smooth floating landed me on soft, flat grass,
and I kept my passenger teeth smiling.
But after a few failed flights and holes in my parachute,
I now sit with iron chains weighing me down,
fire burning with a vengeance,
tear-sandbags dropping until my basket becomes weightless,
waiting for the zephyr,
tattered and anchored
by reason on one corner,
grief on its diagonal corner,
doubt on a third corner,
and, in perhaps the heaviest corner, heartache.
Please patch these holes and saw off these chains; I long to take flight again.