Tired of gravity she floats elsewhere
in a big translucent bubble blown
by a 5 year old at a birthday party
she just somehow made it inside
let it take her away, high up and over
all the fields being harvested this time
of year, everything golden and flatter
than flat should ever be. She drifts
west, nobody stops her, under the radar
she hovers and when no breeze arrives
she rides on tailwinds from big jet planes
all that technology when all anyone needs
is a bubble like hers.
Her in those silver space boots.
Her smile catching the last of the horizon's rays.