Sparks

There it is again:
that ever so small motion
of a random thought.
It flits through my mind
like a fragile butterfly.
Melting in the hand,
it leaves only dust
that stains my clumsy fingers,
and then, poof, is gone.
Two small sparks collide,
and from their union, a flame;
What is left to burn?

17 JUN 2003

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