Just Beyond

He mentioned a bird, a summer trip,

the sound it made, a certain call.

I almost had it, on my lip,

a phantom word, about to fall.

It hung there, just beyond my thought,

a feathered shape, a sudden wing.

For days, I chased it, though I fought

the urge. The way a tiny thing

can settle deep, a constant itch.

A certain light, the smell of damp

forest floor. An empty niche

in memory, a fading stamp

of what I knew, or thought I knew.

It just won't land, won't carry through.