It is a design with subtle fibers

Sometimes I try to express it,
But it is a design with subtle fibers.
You try to extract it from its source,
But just as you retreat with a strand,
It severs like silk in the mud.

Dandelion fuzz sent on its course--
The moment of inspiration is lost.
Just trying to piece it all together,
Difficult for one lacking in crossword skills.

Or think about the poet
Who dreamed of a cosmic landscape,
A glimpse into the mind of hazy, opiated madness.
Underworld reckonings
And memories of nomadic invasion;
Pleasuredomes of surreal ecstasy.
The lines were all there,
Resigned to perfect, superconscious verse.
Would he have recalled the visage
Of immortal delight the next rising of the sun?
When someone came and knocked on the door,
Arousing him from his slumber
And interrupting his iambic fantasy.