Carter Billis

Balloon

by Carter Billis

String tied tightly around my wrist

My thoughts float loosely in the wind

Enclosed in a safe of latex.

Can’t get too far from me

I could lose touch with myself

But can’t get too close

I could lose touch with reality

I’ll keep them hovering at about ten feet Hoping nothing comes to pop them

when I’m not looking.

A Valentine for a piece of wood, Sylvia Manning

Mesquite Angel

“Angel: the candle that leans to the heart’s north.”
                               René Char, Leaves of Hypnos #16

Sitting one, spine straight, head high, proudly
facing due north, true as compass assurance,

anyone can see
you’re only of oldest mesquite tree

broken roughly, quite, its largest limb

wherein you dwelled these decades

until man in machine raised
its wide snout to break you roughly out,
blood red, anger in your bark-
created head and crown

audible even in awful noise
of machine going on to tear away
the other limbs and huisache.

Jagged sharded wood,
splintered hood of your headpiece
pointing to clouds above new caliche,
skirts swept as if side saddling
a mount beneath to bear you

wherever an angry angel
deems she must go
before they bring the chainsaw,
the blood moon, the fire.

Solms,
2/14/18 after

                                                2/05/18