Wednesday, November 5, 2014

Red Balloons

Red Balloons

Oh my little beetle-winged truth
What will happen to you

in this day grown dark You will
be alive somewhere

we hope In the park a family in
their finery Unrumpled

corduroy and marled sweaters
Big bunch of red balloons

in the little girl’s hand I hope that
no one will photograph them

as they tumble toward evening
together Maybe they are

just on a balloon walk through
the leaves without snow

Every which way there are moments
that will be forgotten

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