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https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=MAxdTSc_fts&feature=share

Every morning she would wake to find

An identity wrapped around bolts of cloth.

She’d find her face within small jars of glass,

Her feet from within the closet.

She’d find her head within a coffee cup

And a heart within a locket.

Every morning she’d rediscover

What the night before had lost,

That which would remain familiar

Had the dream-catcher not caught.

And before the sun could break the horizon,

Before the birds the silence,

She would wake to find her assembly line

And rebuild what was forgotten.