What draws me to the cabin that beckons through the wood?
I’d take the rail-straight pathway if I only could,
but I have no legs to walk that sidewalk in.
Nor can I see the night around it, black as deepest sin.
I only feel that darkness, for I have no eyes.
I cannot see the pine woods or things in any guise.
I cannot smell the fog that lifts from forest floor.
I cannot see the shaft of light that leads me to its door.
I cannot feel the cushion of bracken or of pine,
for all of these sensations are no longer mine.
The scene they build in memory may not be as it seems,
for what I am remembering may be the stuff of dreams.