Notes About The Poem
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Ballooning Through the Purple Dark
the moon drifts through the stars,
ropes soft against its glow,
a small basket swaying
over the dark purple mountains~
quiet as a lantern carried by the night.
a faint wind turns the ropes,
slow enough to see the motion,
steady enough to trust.
the basket dips once,
a gentle nod toward the ridgeline,
then rises again
into the cool, bright hush.
the mountains hold their shape,
dark shoulders folded beneath the sky,
watching the moon float past
as though it were a traveler
with no destination
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