She said, "That is an idea and a half",
And is that sad because incomplete,
Or joyous because abundant?
Should I attend the whole
Taking the risk that thereby
I may lose the half?
Or would it be better to
Nurture the half trying to
Make potential immanent?
Sometimes a half an idea
Churns and wiggles and gallumps
Inside my brain then fades
I grasp for it, try to save it
But it turns from potential
To remnant to trailing mist.
Sometimes, though, if
I can keep myself from looking
Direct – can keep my gaze askance
It comes back and fills me
With such a sense of joy.
My old friend! How, forget you?
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