an armful of hopes

an armful of hopes

words,

have coop-flown

scarce this year.

i catch sight of them,

clustering;  

a sweeping murmur

for the blue hour.

oftentimes, a distant ripple

over water i cannot reach.

but have agitated

with my faraway movements.

sometimes,

they are curled shavings,

of dreams,

that crisp-and-crunch

my waking.

there seems

to have been a time,

when i closed down inspiration.

or dropped it,

whilst struggling to manage  

an armful of hopes.

it’s become like a spare button,

lost to a drawer of receipts,

batteries, fluff

loyalty cards

and stuff

that might never be.

and no amount

of deft finger work

can relate, repair

or rediscover.

it’s there.

but working tirelessly

at remaining

hidden.