In my dreams, I track the sails of drifting ships,
white moths fluttering before the wind.
I think I have caught them in overnight traps,
but they fly each morning in dawn’s forgiving light.
I give chase with pen and paper, fine butterfly nets
seeking wild thoughts waiting to be caught, then tamed.
I grasp at something just beyond my fingertips,
but I can’t quite remember what it is.
I wake up each morning unaware of where
I have been the night before.