mecury dreams
begetting quicksilver thoughts
enticing in shape and shine, yet
fluid through grasping hands

time meanders, with little meaning
as roses wilt on the wayside

one note sounds a gong
reverberating in the distance
drawing me forward

all the time i am hampered
by the gathering up of  past
I walk carrying a backpack
of  badly folded origami dreams

hoping oneday they will be art