Cul de Sac

My memory probes have revealed
nothing. Does my subconscious know
something that I do not? That vaguer
than vague twinge haunting my thoughts
must have some meaning. Is it something
I cannot recall? That I have no lingering
memory of, perhaps? A recall of some
time, a place where I have been before.
That stroll through the forest on a narrow
trail overhung with a dense canopy of
green admitting no sun, deep in the dusk
of daylight shade, is that a metaphor for
something that should have great meaning
to me? A green so deep it has swallowed
ambient light, threatens to swallow my
presence. Yet the landscape exudes a deep
feeling of familiarity, a comfortable ease
that makes little sense against the itch of
knowing when I know nothing at all.