Balloon
You died, and I wrote your name on a balloon.
I would have drawn your face, but this orange
Bulb is neither life nor light, and I’m useless
With a pen anyway. Like a coloured cloud
It was just a scribbling in a child’s book
And means nothing, not to that extent.
It was too vacant to have your heart’s weight.
You are dead, and there are no new stars,
No voices for the choir, but I offered
My air to that balloon and let it riseLike a full stop -
And that is quite enough.
