This afternoon,
I tied a balloon,
to the gold pierced ring,
to my navel.

I sense
the trade-winds
on high, tug
my soul
through the taut string.

Umbilical
to cirrus nimbi,
serious business
this nimble coercion
of word to nuance,
motion to notion,
failure to grasp.

Still, to feel jostled
in currents,
suddenly aloft in one giant yank!

I spin like a whirly,
pendulum broad sweeps
across the darkened sky inverted,
sacrificial innocent on a bungee,
just before the fall.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013