Thought is finding its shape,
Becoming stronger¹,
And word by word,
Layer upon layer,
Self-erasing,
Taking form².
The mind is a collage
Creating itself from cut-up scraps¹;
It is a sculpture built by a flowing
Fountain of sand,
Both constantly being eroded
And being formed
And grown by the erosion²,
The sculpting fingers of erosion¹,
The sculpted shadows of forgetfulness².
Grains of memory
Beneath the fingernails¹,
They fall, they forget;
One remains².