If I am aloft, it is only because of you.
You scour me. You scatter me.
When you rush by, I crack. I crumble. What I thought of my form is reduced to nothing.
You rush and roil, spin and twist.
I am drawn up. Your ardor alone brings this joy to me.
I fall away in tumbles.
You mold me into piles, spread me along and smoosh me.
It is OK. I could only ever be risen in your presence.
I am not ever this happy without you.