It dances on the perimeter of my understanding,
And flits across the consciousness of my mind;
Whisking through without a move toward landing,
Leaving my imagination desperately far behind.

With celerity it often accelerates the race;
Swift and nimble, it evades my futile grasp,
And I must scamper quickly to keep the pace,
Ever reaching, never succeeding with a clasp.

In it sweeps, and off it darts into the clear;
Fleet and swift, it always hastens right on by,
Remaining ever a blear through its sheer veneer,
Murky to the mind and gaseous to the eye.

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