Hot Air

Saint Cyril says to consider
archangels, powers, dominions

but I can’t
rise above the kiddie pool

in the backyard brimming
after a week of rain.

How the inflatable ball
riding the water’s edge

rouses my dull imagination
to life. Not the sheer

probability of a fall—
rather, the attainable height

of contained breath when lifted
from beneath.

I think of Christ’s empty tomb
and how it was less

a helium-filled balloon
and more a volleyball

kept aloft by hidden hands
bouncing sinners from abyss

to sky, which upon
closer inspection, curves

down to the horizon
not in a deflating frown

but as a seagull’s wing
before an upbeat—

Published by asaur