i get picked up by the breeze when i walk outside, so light and hollow a rider am i. so light and hollow and not much to give, but then again, you know if you asked, i'd give you what's left of me, honey. but you still have to catch me, snatch me out of the updraft. you still have to find a good paperweight. a word or two or whatever's at hand, a hand, or two eyes, something heavier than gravity, it lets me float seconds at a time. but although in floating, i can see the world, like a great green checkerboard, i can only go with the wind, like a sail, like a balloon slipped off a child's wrist. i suppose in all this i was hoping for something. that on our backs, we could grow wings.