Two Red Balloons

We close our eyes
in order to close
and open ourselves.

The slightest rustling,
a child’s voice,
the river over its stones.

These are the sounds of things
busy being themselves.

Our bodies becoming the pastures and the winds
sprawled out across the grass.

A couple of lazy dogs
that don’t know any better
cradled in the slightest sound,
the sky’s breath.

Even the dark thoughts
we don’t push back
knowing it’s as useless
as pushing back the clouds,
the storm front.

Tomorrow ice will descend again
and the warm winds will have visited
for only a single day.

We were two red balloons
set loose on the warm currents
over the green meadows.

We were a couple of kites turning circles
over the tiny town,
that sun patch.