LOST THOUGHTS
By Janice Veldman
I see it
not clearly
but I see it
the cistern of thoughts
hope heightens
anticipation is half the thrill
salivating at the thought
arriving I lower my bucket
drawing it up
it feels light
I empty the pail
eager to sort into neat little piles
of organized thought
to achieve cohesiveness
having been dry for some time
mud covered most of the draw
it seemed my thoughts
had morphed into globs
stuck together
connectives gave way to garble
it would take effort to sort
muddled by passing time
no longer coherent
dusty, futile
what does it matter
let the wind blow them away