Intuition

Every time I come

Here,

To this place,
I am

Tickled, taunted,

Teased with the

Memories of a

Future yet lived.

A rustling of

Intuition, a slow

Dragging footstep

In the leaves

A reminder of

What comes.

The cues perhaps

Slight but conceal

Monoliths, icebergs

Of observation.

I like coming here.

Like how the place

Brings me to myself

And my place

In the world.