Suppressed recollections
play upon the strings of my impressions,
that are fractured confirmations
of where my mind is flowing,
                             upwards
to the vault of all my beginnings.

There is a stalk that wonders aimlessly
within the crevasses of all that flows,
sustaining on the occasions that were
never meant to be its leaves deprived
of all worthwhile emotions.

Separate from what weaves above,
a solitary refection whispers against
the tide of the beginnings, floating with
the progressive clear thought.