*Gnaws on pencil*

[msfledermaus]

I've been trying like crazy to remember the poem I wrote in my sleep last night...all I have are pieces...

Something about having to leave behind all the names that I used for definition, because I was on the banks of The River that Never Runs...
Worker
Neighbor
Aquaintance
Daughter
Sister
Friend
Enemy
Lover
Ex-lover
Aunt
Young
Old
Roommate
Tenant....

And watching them swirl away in the wind, lost in the dusk.

Then having to let go of the harder ones.

Artist
Poet
Woman
Guilt
Fear
Hate
Love...

and standing on the banks, just me, stripped of everything. Like Inanna when she visited her sister Death. Except unlike her my purpose wasn't to cross to the other bank to the land of the Dead.

And I could see figures on the other side. People I recognized as dying, but not in the faces and bodies I would have recognized from the lives they lived.
They, and I were beyond the need for the shorthand of faces and body language. Our unspoken heartfelt language was recognition...

This is all a bit fractured, I think I fell asleep again right about this point.
In time when it settles a bit I think it'll make a good poem. What are your thoughts?