I went looking for a feeling today,
that one special feeling I once caught
somewhere, maybe a river in Wyoming
slipping by wild grass or a night when,
still studying philosophy, I looked up
from my book and noticed the soft-light
of my little dorm lamp and loved it.
I hunt this feeling, trap it with
Grandma's plastic tablecloth that was
padded so no waterglass could be placed
on it without almost toppling over
and her tossing a tennis ball to a dog
in the backyard, the distant sound
of a train rolling down dark tracks
as I slept.
I surround it and demand its name.
It smiles at me and slips through the
gaps and the hunt is on again for that
feeling I'm looking for today,
maybe walking down a dusty road in
Sacramento and seeing a lizard dart
off into the bush and then my shoes
seemed quiet under the hot-white sky and
for a moment I forgot where I was going.
*
Greg Beckman 