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.