poem submitted to "Vers Beaucop" poetry contest, Joseph May, sponsor, October 1, 2026
The hot air BALLOON rose through the BLUE with its VIEW forever NEW. No ROAD could SHOW where to GO, only FLOW. The WIND kept STREAMS full of DREAMS, unseen SEAMS where the sky learned to LEAN. Below, the TOWN turned to THREADS as it SPREAD, roads of LEAD now made SMALL by them ALL, seen from TALL heights where FARMERS and BARNS became CHARMS on the quilt of the LAND. The pilot sat STILL with no WILL to DISTILL or fulfill some PLAN. No MAN can COMMAND what is PLANNED by invisible TIDES that provide hidden GUIDES through the rivers of AIR. He did not ASPIRE to climb HIGHER through FIRE, but acquire one GLANCE at the DANCE of mere CHANCE. EARTH seemed more CLEAR from up HERE, each frontier drawn bright by the LIGHT. At last he came DOWN where fields BROWN wrapped the TOWN, without SOUND. Yet he KNEW what was TRUE still flew THROUGH the unseen ways we'd ignore evermore, though they move us each DAY anyway.
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