There followed a shadow
Everyday begging me to take it
And use it as ink
Trace its lines with my pen
In my book with patience, love
And focus on
Its contour and its breadth

Its meaning was lost
As I ran from it
Told it “later” and took it for granted
The lines and shadows
All possible color, on the outskirts

Color drained as my mind sped away
With thoughts of food or
Tiny candies arranged perfectly in
Quartets winning me–
Loss of perception. Loss of topic
I slept before the page was able to
Before the pen could implore that
What I care about is impermanent
The shells of fragile selenite towers

Yet still it floats on the edge of the moment
Where I search ’round and ’round for it
Hoping one poem could birth another
Anything to bring it back
But I must’ve sucked all from it–
Left a lost ghost in a hallow

Consuming coffee grinds behind the cupboards
The plastic trash lid slams down
Trying to imprint on my consciousness
As if it is the key to my lost inspiration–
Goading me with the dream
I blinked absently at and let swirl into the sewer
Shuffling on, pushing buttons that
Prevent the birth of a poem