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 through 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.