By now, it has to be, somewhere during mid-week 

My dreams are a balloon at times losing their helium 

Dip diving back to the surface, 

The hard ground, 

Of smug reality 

Crashing hard down 

Onto cold dirt 

No flexibility 

The ground doesn’t bend with my feet 

It remains, constantly, under me 

Will I always resent that which is firm and will always be?

There is grace and strength in its reliability 

I do see, 

This maturity, 

In me 

Unfolding like a hallmark card 

The story of how I discovered 

That the cold hard ground 

Is merely a place, and a limit, 

A starting place 

To launch my kite off of 

Heaven Bound 

This floor is not my final destination 

The sky is 

Into the mist and magic of the clouds 

Ill float too 

Ill float too