Downtown Charlotte, Spring, On the Way to the Library

As I walk through echoing streets
Past the pavement pounding
Of a hundred insistent feet,
And swim through many faces
Intent on places where they hurry to meet,

I see a red girl from a painting.
Daintily she holds three bright balloons.
The saintly balloonman whistles, strolls away,
As a blue balloon floats through the grasp
Of tall buildings swaying like trees¹
Answering May’s silenced breeze.

I wonder if I, too,
(Moved by thoughts like these)
Silently, like a blue balloon,
Drifting, like a lost balloon
In a waking, walking dream,
Can float unparalyzed through hands
Grasping like waving anemones,
And leave your arms to go somewhere
Wavering, but faintly triumphant, alone.

¹The Church, "Hotel Womb". "I say, why are those buildings swaying like trees?"

8/21/98