Tenuous, is this state.
The second I close my eyes-
empty to open and allow.
The instance when my mind lets go
attempts to grasp the delicate threads;
these flitting wisps of ethereal
threaten to escape my clutch.
First birthed poem moments-
subconscious and conscious tango,
pulling together passionately
the inklings that were felt,
the immediate responses;
the ones that were most authentic,
those initial true thoughts…
So easily they can slip into the distance,
just a withdrawn darkening spark
in the miles and mounting miles of synapses.
And I find I’m here again and again
in a grapple with the fragile muse.
Copyright © Hannah Gosselin and Metaphors and Smiles, 2011-13