How you feel

Tinkerbell, beam of light elusive
and poring through my fingers,
nothing more and nothing less
than fantasy, pure and simple,
floating like a fledgling feather
on the vast, Virginia breeze,
my muse, my elusive muse.

Well, you're gone now,
or were you ever here?
I am left alone to follow
these footprints through
shifty sands of desert dunes,
nomadic as a Bedouin,
stupid as a camel.

But I faithfully follow these tracks
in the heat of the wind and sand
until I discover the source
is right back where I began,
and all I find out is that
I am searching for myself.

So, how DO you hold
a hurricane in a cup,
lightning in a bottle,
a phantom wind,
a tsunami tamed?
A mirage, though unreal,
still more than enough
to keep you searching
because you cannot help
how you feel.