lost in the thought

I find myself lost in the contrived language of poetry
the afternoon drips away onto the street
pools collecting the sediments of the day
the indifference of the wheel that splashes the hours away
the search for meaning in the distant woods or the road ahead
the cacophony of voices that give meaning to the moment

I find myself lost in a new sound, a new symbol that doesn't yet exist
the moment that connects the brain to the heart, the hand to the touch
I'm lost on the words of the page asking myself
how do I give meaning to the spaces between words,
the silences that don't appear on the page;
to the feeling that has color and texture,
a scent and a taste of its own?

I'm lost in the void of the moment,
the spark that connects the sentiment to the sound,
lost in the impetus to capture the meaning of the synaptic current
that moved me to craft feelings with meaningless words.