Sestina From a Hot Air Balloon

I top the clouds, eschewing ground,

ignoring pleas from ones I love.

I will sail, dreaming, worlds apart

from them, where airlessness should kill.

It never does. Over water,

my thought and sense become all light.

Our balloon, painted in suns’ light,

can take us there. Look at the ground

miles below, showing the water

how to stay and listen for love.

Not too close. Hear this: the cliffs kill

the wind and take silk sails apart.

Write, and we will not be apart,

my dove. Though I travel in light

over oceans and plains, and kill

voices of home, you are my ground.

Can I stay warm without your love

in vast night and Arctic water?

I found your message by water

wrapped in linen worn apart

from what used to be made in love

beside the fire. Your chair had light

enough to see by, though our ground

saw your eyes had questions to kill.

No words exist for what can kill

my thirst for you. Bitter water,

where the answer is, binds like ground

my feet to you. Thought stands apart

from what I feel for you – not light,

but weighted – an onus of love.

You should never forget, my love,

your power to save or to kill,

and how you brought me to the light,

to the living land where water

restores all, but then flows apart,

back to the wellsprings of the ground.

Come, my dove, over the water,

where our love will not break apart,

or leaving air I will clasp the ground.

*Sestinas are a little tricky, but yield surprising results. More information about how to write a sestina can be found on the Academy of American Poets website.