possibilities

Waiting for the perfect thought to slit thru the open, like a sun emerging from a
triangle of sky; my mind is swelling with insignificance. I'm breathing in tiny atoms of life, taking mental pictures, the bedpost, the curtains, the lamps, at this moment are etching themselves into my memory. Their stillness, the only thing worthy of attention, beckons me to follow. Like a curtain unruffled by the wind this doesn't take away from the possibility of flying. I 'm listening to music, trying to silence, silence.

It's wet in the city, ( i don't remember how many times i've used this line in a poem, to me this evokes an image, a mood that i can't quite explain. But to say, i can never complete this thought, would be an understatement, that's why it keeps on popping up every now and then in my poems. i am writing another poem about rain, maybe i'll post it here when it's finished.
..... it will never be finished