if he could only find that spark.


Sometimes it seemed so near,

just above his head, caught in the leaves of the garden,

buzzing lazily around the lampposts.


At other times, it rose and hid itself among the planets

and one could not touch it for all the world.

At such times, it was far and faint, blinking in and out,

as round and perfect as a bird's round eye,

reappearing in yet another place.

And sometimes the spark disappeared for hours

He was lost then, feeling his way through the dark.

Perhaps everything could go like that

and all one could do was wait.