Lost in Thought

seeking words--the "right" words,
my breadcrumbs
though most were already
traded between blatherskites and insatiable sparrows,

I saunter
    (no, definitely not)
I stroll
    (no, not quite)
I stumble
    (yes, there it is)
down an unofficial trail created
by others' confidence

the others walk in moon's faint glow
overstepping when necessary
skipping like stones skimming a placid sound
in spite of strong currents

they smell the wind to see the future
kiss the crinkle of Wisdom's eye
fall in step with Catcher's dance in a field of rye
then climb the oaks and taunt the sun with their freedom.

they created this passage when nothing was paved,
no signs to direct the saved;
not even loathsome specks of lonesome gravel
hitching rides in the crevices of the sole.



the "right" words,
are here somewhere
the trail is littered with them
and yet, I sit,
my footing caught
under a root.
The empathetic sun
consoles and shoos the clouds
away.

The words I had collected
curl, shrivel, become dust
swept by wind and forgotten.
The disgusted sun
leaves and beckons Nature's spate
The root stops clutching
now, merely holds
but I stay under its loose grip
dreaming of being an other.