A ball rolls down smooth incline with physics
its spring, while a person realizes an
inclination with empty mind’s matrix
whose psychological fall is I can.

The string of pearls moment to moment run,
where not a thought or feeling, but a sense
of the inevitable has begun
an undulating euphoric sequence.

But whether big, small, subtle or blatant,
this ever so tenuous impetus
may disappear baffling without warrant,
a wild creature’s return to the traceless.

So momentum is not merely motion,
but the elusive drive to its potion.