snatch it.

I’ve heard that each passing thought,
the ones you forget,
upon realizing that they have no home in your head
begin slowly to wiggle out of your ears,
and poke their noses into the air.

they do not have wings—
you never gave them any.

but sometimes, the brave ones,
the ones that perhaps you should have more fully known,
begin to hum slightly,
vibrating with their tiny inner force.

(that is what makes your ears ring.)

and even more rarely,
this vibration becomes powerful enough that they grow tiny wings
for themselves.

then, they soar, tentatively at first
up into the ether.

they pass by planes,
have sympathy for falling stars,
and walk the tightropes of constellations.

grown-ups cannot see them—but children can.

sometimes they mistake them for rocket ships or
superheroes
or prehistoric birds.

I bet you remember,
lucky child that you were,
knowing that you had caught magic in your butterfly net.