I wandered the valleys, walked the hills,
Gathered colored pebbles,
No room left for new ones —
The pockets in my pants are stuffed.

Quite the collector —
Another idea will seize him.
Too much catch — he’ll give it away or drown it,
And look like a hero again.

Oversaturated, I lose interest,
Right then imagination paints a goal,
A sacrificial spirit visits, or maybe envy —
Meanings return. I live again.