Difference or Repetition

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?