Epistemological
There
is
a
moment
between
wakefulness
and
dream
when
it
is
possible
to
know
everything,
when
eternity
riffles
its
pages,
disclosing
in
a
blur
every
wondrous
fact
and
right
choice,
every
yearning
human
heart.
Then
the
moment
passes,
the
world
having
inched
along
its
orbit.
But
certain
remnants
travel
with
us,
later
re-seen
in
dream
or
felt
as
intuition,
transfigured
into
ice
or
voices
heard
as
air
in
the
plumbing.
Or
recast
as
memories
so
slight
and
fragmentary
they
are
blown
away
by
a
gust
of
worry,
or
the
mere
sight
of
a
bird
on
a
bare
branch
in
winter,
still
as
stone
and
strangely
familiar.
