Thinking

Thinking: it wanders,

I cannot get a hold of it,

cannot firmly grip thinking to examine it,

like shifting tidal sands,

like early morning mist,

like scudding clouds in a windswept sky.

Thinking moves, shifts,

alters shape, form and function,

it is a phantom, a ghost,

it is like trying to grab a fistful of water from a running stream.

Every time I try to clothe it in words,

it has already moved

and I find the thought I am typing

is already a memory.

It seems, to begin talking about thinking

is to be forever lost in a world of clouds.

Nikolai Rozhonova