with the wind

I am shaped by the journey

a thousand miles ago
before I started floating
at the mercy of the winds
that blow prompts
to twist my balloon
to send it beyond the reach
of maps I used to know—
I first stepped into the gondola
saw the bag fill
with a rush of hot air
and the glitter of autumn gold
and I wondered
where would I end?
I can’t feel the wind of words
lifting me past
what I can do.
I’m part of the wind,
bending, shaping myself
by the whims of the journey.

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