On the tip of my tongue
I close my eyes to differentiate
sensuality and recall
only to get a glimpse
of another thing
I had tried to re-member
by conceptualizing
behind closed eyes
aimed upward toward the starlight,
the expansion of the universe
is demonstrated before me.
There, dark matter doesn't care
about bonding and periodicals
or a sense of stability.
The first thought dissolves
into the next
continuum of generations.
The name I need jumps out
shattering the dim bliss.
It has been used before,
it is thinner now
in this event
not solid enough to hold more space
for future
consideration.
Painting by Isidre Nonell, Thinking (1906) in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.
