Lost

Patterns lost

In thought over trivialities.

Washed away or sunken

Like stones beneath the waves.

A spectrum cast through shards of glass

Splintered and scattered

Over the pavement.

If I squint, only a slit,

A slight opening for the light to shine

Just right, the pattern forms

then fades, lost in the jumbled mess

I have made with nothing

More than a reckless thought

Followed by the thousands.

And then I try

to scoop the broken pattern in cupped hands,

But the light slides like delta silt

through my fingers, over my skin.

Ephemeral, yet clear and cutting.

Like a thought,

I think. Only I can see

The pattern lost, disturbed

by thoughts, invalidated by me.