A poem about an increasingly familiar feeling:
Thin Air
it's an untethered balloon
already out of reach
it's a pub-quiz answer
you know you know but can't recall
on the tip of your tongue
but no further
it's the reason you are at the top of the stairs, wondering
and the reason you will have to go back down, empty handed
I had an idea
so clear and brilliant
that I didn't write it down . . .
I know it exists by the hole it left behind
I can't picture the picture
behind that negative space
I need a clue (or two)
to reboard that train of thought
It's escaped
like space junk,
floating away . . . . .
