Between the idea
And the reality
Between the motion
And the act
Falls the Shadow (Eliot)

I wonder why ideas stay briefly here —
the track perhaps. I know they’re out there. They
gain substance in unlikely places, grow
up secretly near flood-ways, creeks and trees.
They ride with me a while then disappear —
move on at least. It has to be the road.
I often lose ideas on roads like these.

I wonder where they go though. Surely they
are waiting out there somewhere. There’s that line
I lost last year — about the morning when
the sunrise caught and passed me, drained the grey,
patched shadows from the saltbush flats and then
laid them on the rising ranges. Late next May
I’ll take this road again. Perhaps the line
is lying by some rutted flood-way and
I’ll read it for a while before it fades.
I’ll write it down — one year. Just give me time.