Grasping

It was there all along: billowing
behind sails in ships of clouds, waiting
in the corner of your eye, slipping
through your fingers, leaning
just out of reach, stepping
just past the next hill, hiding
in plain sight, one moment of daydreaming
away, close but no cigar. Are you catching
my drift? What was it, you’re asking.
I’m having
trouble remembering.
It’s on the tip of my tongue.

PAD Challenge 21: a hidden message poem

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