I'd always held onto the notion That the balloons I let slip from my palms Would blushingly allow their helium to carry them Into outer space—pull itself back into the stars, Past shifting blossoms of cloud, Brushing blue starlight Like ember tossed back into fire. An erasure of violence. Maybe I couldn’t imagine my hands As more gentle than atmosphere— Latex against skin sending prickles In the imbalance of electric charge, The way proximity feels unnatural In the giddy performance of stood-up hair. I’ll turn a blind ear To the bang, Let it happen overhead. If collision can create, What beauty will bloom When you inhale—allow The air inside you to expand. Surely, the sound is different.
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