Lost are the words, now poetry,
Poems lost on sleep’s wayside,
Memory of words as they flow
When they well up after sleep.

Darkness is lost to a memory.
A light is forgot in a darkness,
A head banged a white of wall,
A horn sprouted on aliveness.

The horn is human and alive,
Memory alive as a head bump,
Forgetfulness about an origin
Where it all began in woman.

As a finger traces life in body
From a wall of dark in a body,
Its darkness merges in white,
Now beyond all white of wall.

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