On Form

Nocturne

Nocturne

In these, the dusk-lit hours, the eventide,

the times where skittish thoughts begin to creep,

I seek out inspirations where they hide:

In fallow lands, in shadows dark and deep.

They dwell among the faults, amid the roots

of knowledge-trees that line the Great Perhaps.

The less perceptive hunter simply shoots;

I came prepared. I bait and set my traps,

I tug at threads until a thought is snared,

with pen and ink I document its shape.

It bares its claws, and draws my blood. It’s scared.

My notes complete, I let the thing escape.

It tears away, but still it leaves a spark;

its captured outline glitters in the dark.