Hidden memories, a picture or a phrase
floats up from the depth of my consciousness,
before I can grab a pen they sink back;
how much I seek, I shall never find
what it was.
A pre-birth memory before words
and meanings were invented, glued to the soft
membrane of the unborn, trying to articulate
the unspoken.
Veiled memories must be sensed if I want
to know anything about a world beyond
the world that cannot be understood by logic.
I must feel the forgotten, see the beauty
of a rose hidden in the woods
where only the bravest dare tread.
