It’s
the thoughts,
they keep streaming
like when I’m dreaming,
patterns of things to come,
glowing, jubilant
chorus of trees, singing-
mountains wailing,
thunder, in
the bed. Flying
this kite, attracting
rainbows and light-
troubles ahead,
reel them
in, these
fish, I’ve
caught, collect
them all,
with
just,
a
jot-
Then,
letting them
go,
poooof,
they melt,
just
like
snow.