THE RITUAL

I buried three dead balloons today

beneath a flimsy rope swing.

One last gasp

was all the air left in them.

They were the most beautiful balloons

I have ever breathed my breath into.

You do not need to know the particulars

of why I buried them.

Or why I buried them where I did.

Or why they were red.

Or why, with one touch,

they magically

became balloons again

after being something else.

What you need to know is:

what will you do when

your heart breaks open

and an ocean rushes forth

like a tempest…

How will you honor that ocean?

Hold it, thank it? —

before the squall clears

and the water is just water again,

reflecting the blue infinity

of the sky.