States of Flow


States of Flow

By Thea Clarkberg


The fog sits heavy in my head,

Ideas drift, half-formed, then dead.

To condense the haze, I seek a spark,

A focused flame within the dark.


A broken mirror catches light

Scatters it, sharp and bright.

My thoughts reflect in every shard

Too many voices, all holds unbarred.


When thoughts flood in, like heaven’s rain,

Ideas pour, too rich to tame.

I cast a net, I raise my cup

But always, it’s too much to hold up.


The final drops, reluctant, fall

No stream, no surge, no force at all.

I lie there still, the world upright

But I am flat and out of fight.


I’ve chased the rush, endured the slow,

But never reached laminar flow.

Not sharp, not loud, not fast or bright

Just steady motion, clear and right.

The stillness always slips away—

A peace I touch, but cannot stay.


--


This poem was created in collaboration with AI. While the themes, structure, and voice were created by the human author, some phrasing, rhyme, and stylistic suggestions were supported through AI brainstorming. The final poem reflects a partnership between human intention and digital ideation. Image is generated by AI.

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