For He Who Shall Live in the Woods

July 12, 2013

I take you with me in a hot air balloon
colored with berries of red and blue
smeared with heavy dirt and green leaves,
following the sunset.

We go up and up and up and up and
when we look down,
you’re an old man in a cabin in the woods
with grey hair and a lanky mutt by your side.
Your loose clothes are blowing in the wind
and the wind is blowing toward the sunset
and we are in a hot air balloon.

When lightning strikes we don’t talk
just look and then laugh
because it doesn’t hurt us and
it looks so pretty
behind the small church
filled with desperate people.

Our hot air balloon gets stuck in a cloud
so we picnic.
You packed us sandwiches and
I baked us cookies.
We sit on a cloud shaped as a dragon.
We watch it spit orange flames from its mouth
and the color contrasts with the blue of the sky
and the white of our dragon’s body.

Our feet dangle.

When the air blows us
far away from our dragon
we miss it but we had taken some with us.
I took the tail, you took its tongue
and we have fun breathing fire into thin air.

Our Mother is the sunset and she greets us with open arms
like that recurring dream I had
for so long
of acceptance.

Mother Sunset eats our hot air balloon
while we lay on her bosom and sleep.
We hold our dragon parts tight.

I wonder what you are doing in the woods.


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