The Art of the Impossible

Photo by Jeremy Thomas on Unsplash

A heady notion appears

And disappears in and out

Of thoughts that occur

Throughout the day,

Over the decades,

And through a fog-filled

Landscape.

This wispy, fluid thought

Evades structure

And words

And sends an occasional

Lightning strike before

Dissipating into the atmosphere.

It usually limps along, but

Sometimes it hints at

Matters sublime,

Leading me down a narrowing tunnel

To a place that holds some

Mystical explanation of this

Estate we call living and dying.

The fog isn’t real,

Nor is the tunnel,

And certainly there is no

Moment of revelation.

Most of the time I can’t even

Imagine what the thought is,

So as old as these bones are,

Perhaps they are still not

Ready for a karmic connection

To the before,

The after,

And the in-between.