Catching Thoughts

Its almost out of sight.
I just don't know it yet.
Like a balloon let go into the sky,
I don't miss it until its gone.

But at that time it is too late.
A thought left unpreserved,
is a thought that escapes.

This time
I took my thought,
and I bound it.

I like to watch it squirm
as trys to pull away from the ink,
like a butterfly in a cocoon,

or maybe like an inmate.
The paper is a thought prison,
and I am its warden.