I am a ghost
among the crowd,
silently looming

The predictability
of the unpredictable,
I linger

At my most,
I take on form,
ever looping

To retain,
To disperse,
To lay low or regain

I wish to be still
At a constant zerø,
if you may please

But I—
spread too thin
or dense too quick;

I will forever remain
in this gentle cycle
rinsed in chaos.