It lurks at the edges, on the periphery of my vision
slipping, slithering, undulating like a serpent
tantalising.. taking flight,
swooping, diving, forming figures of eight.
And just when all its parts seem
to be falling in place,
along comes a Harrier
picking words off like prey,
dispersing the rest
over shimmering waters of the mind.
If only I could lure it
into my gingerbread house..
But the poem insists
on being a wave and a particle
at the same time.