we watch in awed silence

across the frozen street

through the panes of glass

two floors down



a child

maybe half our age

bored and weary

sitting framed against the windowsill



in hands he's long forgotten

wrapped about his fist

the tether of a red balloon



marking moments until freedom, absent-minded

he contracts and relaxes the tension

sometimes with violent rapidity



too scared to release



for it might get caught up in the ceiling

people might laugh, might judge, might point

at him

a child, dressing older than he is



but who's to say his balloon won't find a way

seek the highest point

make its way to heaven?



what would he do

if the ceiling opened up

to gleefully receive his gift?



but still he resists the urge



so

with reverence and gratitude

we turn our attention back inwards

towards that which we can control



and we waltz to the rhythm of a heartbeat

sheltered from the cold

safely hidden away in a sacred space

a space forgotten by all

but a few



and we are they, and us is all

02/22/2006

Posted on 02/22/2006
Copyright © 2025 A.M. Demarco