The dreams they tickle me sometimes
Crashing through waking awareness
Than interpersonal speech
Stroking neck hairs
Forming goose bumps
Someone says something I’ve heard
Colors frame the scene I’ve seen
Boundaries between past and present are blurred
I was and am, will be, and will have been.
But to what avail?
What the purpose o’ the tale?
Once the vision abates
Does some force negate my free will?
Reduce choices to nil?
I stand encased in invisible ice
In a pine tree, the raven preens snow-drenched feathers
Widened eyes emit a silent, dilated-pupil scream
Winds whip the pendulous pine cones
And I know not
I know not
What to do with my knowledge
Where to go from the knoll’s edge