Ideas are so difficult to keep
I cannot trap them in jars;
they are not flitting lightening bugs
awaiting my capture
They slide through my fingers,
those impish creatures,
slippery silver minnows
But they are so beautiful,
my thoughts,
dancing down my palms
and diving off my fingertips
They pirouette in midair
landing,
sinking into the soil
Deep in the dirt and mud
they bloom.