If thoughts could speak
freely without intrusion
from our language
constructed as
a large structure
rife with walls
converging
top to bottom
side to side
echoes dead
or dying further.

During those walks at night
spontaneous and empty of purpose
I fertilize my best thoughts
the kind one doesn't simply return to
calling and commanding upon
like some song's familiar reprise.

How I could speak
if they simply came out
with need for neither pen
nor paper, just to save them
in their fresh purity
but when I come back to
the clear beautiful glass that formed
has been cracked
stained and collected dust
over the course of generations
or so it feels.