Ad Fontes

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Memory is prophecy.

A man remembers:

Lives contain a source,
a singular Urquelle
from which bubbled
its inevitable becoming,
portending the present
like the shoots of
last year’s daffodils,
eternally recurring,
reminders of the how,
and the unknowable why,
he arrived at this now
beneath this particular sky
with its indifferent moon,
where he sojourns a while,
from which he departs soon.

A reality woven from threads
of personal imagination,
created in ignorance
with the best of intention.