We can be exquisitely,
Rarely—but it delights me.
Blooming hot-air balloons—huge,
Harlequin, floating mushrooms—
Loomed in the blue, dreams moving
One morning over Kanab,
Utah—one boring morning
For closed stores and winter chores,
As far from tourist season
As Kanab got any more—
And for the purest reason—
That physics favored flying
Those brilliant, harmless galleons
Through atmosphere chilled and still.