I watch, a bystander, as ideas
skip across my mind
like stones upon the water,
leaving ripples of impressions--
fleeting--
not quite captured
and lost
before the last ring
of the swell dies away.
I---left to my own accord--
dismiss it with a shake of my head,
and an uneasy smile
wondering if it would have been
dark and shadowed,
or brilliant and uninhibited.
Are there any trickles left
of the idea
that once was there,
or was it just a memory that I had forgotten
I knew?
Will the swells rise again,
or be left alone---
still
silent
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