patching up...last line first line

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

(fancy those!)

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.

patching up

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"