patches in snatches
patches of sunlight
I try to gather
in my palm locking all in my fingers
I also gather beads
thread them with wires of sunlight
enclosing the warmth
those snatches of wind
I collect in my hand towel
in the upcoming days of drought
I will take all of these out
and fill my emptiness
"can anyone hold transient nostalgia?"
I look the last line of the poem above, patches in snatches, and made that the first line in the poem below and let it go wherever it wanted to, all by itself.
can anyone hold transient nostalgia?
Is it not an absurd concept
dancing inside one's head
if forks toppled over
spoons held their head high
bowl of dough mixed so well
but why talk of mundane
in the midst of all this?
dancing thoughts can have a pattern
"let it sit for a while, I will find a way
out of nostalgia, absurd or not"