A Rock and That Hard Place

If the breeze could float two ways
maybe once or twice in a while,
which way would be right,
and which would be wrong?

We could all just be dancing in the wind,
like paper kites zipping through the night.
Or a Chinese lantern, lost for eternity
in the grace of a mid-March mellow flick of air.

Or is it the despair, mostly,
we feel after nights of glee?
Sat half glum, half free;
stuck between two directions
of a zephyr in transit.