AUTISM: A POEM
. . . . .XXII. Balloon Launch
My wife, my son, and I
. . . . .watch two dozen balloons launched
from the middle of a mud-filled
. . . . .meadow, each one rising like another
colorful sun suddenly added
. . . . .to the wide morning sky, shining
in bright reflection as it drifts
. . . . .into a slant of dawn light, reaches
toward farmland farther east.
. . . . .Every year we come here, hoping
to notice once more how
. . . . .these large objects float so easily
with even the slightest breeze,
. . . . .moving smoothly through the blue
fields above us, now cruising
. . . . .the wind current as quietly as those
final few scraps of clouds
. . . . .forging higher overhead, nothing
more than decorative remnants
. . . . .left over from yesterday’s storm.