A Wigwam for a Goose's Bridle

floating into the atmosphere, I thought
this is you, lifting me up
but it was all just hot air
what happens when the fire dies?
always fearful of my inevitable fall
but the fire was within me
and I rise, a phoenix from my own ashes
and you are the one who falls

Written for Day 14 of the Kristina Mahr TTPD Poetry challenge