A Dream of Years ANN K. SCHWADER
A dream of years…Or was it? I awoke
adrift in my own senses: sound & light
alike too strong, too alien & bright
for subtle understanding. When I spoke,
another’s tongue resculpted every thought
to suit language I half-recognized
as elder to this planet. Yet disguised
within those words, I found—& then forgot—
a thousand premonitions. Futures passed
like phantoms through my outstretched fingers. Strange
& small they seemed, both fate & digits changed
to fit the limits of this form.
At last,
one nightmare limned the source of my despair:
in distant waters fringed by primal fronds,
I glimpsed myself as I had been beyond
the prison of this present. When or where
my mind had voyaged, it returned to me
in horror at my own humanity.
After Lovecraft’s “The Shadow Out of Time”
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