The Flotsam

The flotsam From the deep of unconscious float up pieces of memories, like torn pictures of a past I can't recall. I see a child standing on a chair seeing his image in the window. A man, in the street below looks, up smiles. A war plane, flies right through the house and disappear Old dreams and forgotten memories have no beginning, no e; they can't be expanded and made coherent. A mighty surge of fear passes though me, an unremembered memory absorbed into my nascent brain before I was born? The unborn but is silence it can't be articulated into words. I listen to an ancient hum to understand a future that has no conscience of the coming.