hot air hopes

the way my hopes hung

like hot air balloons

in cold morning air

too frigid to get proper rise.

I sat in ratten basket

with burner lit,

but it was just not hot enough

to give us – my hopes and me –

buoyancy for lift off.

propane flaming high into envelope

crowning out the top and

too porous for my fire.

it sifts through my french seams

and the silken panels

can not hold air.

slowly my hopes are deflating

and this flight grounded

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