Somebody’s cut the line –
damn it, I dozed!

I’m rising way too fast,
this is not good.

I have no rudder to steer,
no weight to hold me to earth.

Wild careen across cloudscape,
sideways then up then sideways and up.

A monstrous downdraft deals a concussive blow,
stops the ascent dead in its rise,

propels me for a moment into the envelope of the balloon,
barely missing the flames.

My crown-lines appear staked to nearby clouds,
but I know that can’t be.

I stabilize with open jets of whisper burners,
aglow in night-blue sky.

I have no way back down,
except to plummet, finally fall.

But instead, I simply dangle,
cautious not to breathe.

© Carlos Chagall, 2013