Drifting through a forest,
                lost
between the dark leaves &
frost-encrusted moss,
chasing fleeting insights
                like
cinders drifting into the night,
from a fire now furiously bright.

Stunned, we wait
for the after-image to fade, uncertain
& afraid
of what to do when
the light leaves us again.

So we wait
until morning, then
press fingers against our eyelids
&
try to believe the phosphenes are unique;
when
we open our eyes again to let them
                    linger
over familiar scenes

does it seem
as if anything

has changed?

Are all things still

                    the same,
or have they subtly,
briefly
            changed?