There’s something I’m seeing
that I’m not seeing                      
                                  All the time, I’m
looking, but not seeing that I’m looking
and not seeing.                            
                             It’s why there’s no traction
in my action, no diction in my fiction.  

It’s a very delicate matter, too big to hold
in my hand unless I grow a new kind of hand.
It’s something that walked on ahead of me
I can only catch with the speed of patience,
the kind needed to jump in a lake
without getting wet.