I began to think and drift away.
The mountains, the many marvelous mountains –
I could swim through the mountains for
Millions of miles
“Oh my gosh, can we get down now?”
“Billie, can you take a picture of me?”
“Our balloon is so much cooler than theirs.”
“It’s so cold.”
Assholes brought me back to a world I was trying to escape. No matter, though, we’re all human and have our faults. The pilot gave the balloon another breath of fire, and as we continued to ascend, I took a few more photos out of guilt for my bed-ridden comrade. Then, stowing my devices out of arm’s reach once more, I sealed my eyes, inflated my lungs, and prepared to led the muses kiss my spirit and bestor some secret long withheld from humankind.
The mountains, the masterful mavericks,
That marble their way through
Marked fields of –
“So where are you guys from again?”
“Can you move so I can take a picture of myself in the sunrise?”
“Are we gonna hit that tree?”
My patience wore thin, and the splendor of the day’s newness and the exampse of the fertile earth became imbued with subtle hues of bitterness and frustration. Tranquility tantalized me, brushing my nose with a gust of sharp, cool novelty – but she couldn’t dear my exhortations.
[as I was running out of time and had much more to write, I omitted the middle of what I wanted to say. Here, though, is the ending]
When we finally landed, popped Champaign, and received our certificates, we had a chance to sign a guestbook. I wrote, “This is what poetry looks like before it’s translated into words,” for I realized I was incapable of a good translation.