Origin to oblivion

Writers' Island's prompt for this week is the one word: FORETELL. Origin to oblivion is my response:-

A sculptor friend
sees future things
in fallen trees.

There in the spread
of branches or
the scatter of
its leaves - and most
of all, the grace
or not, of how
the trunk is posed,
the posturing
of mind or frame -
is future written large
beyond what cards
or crystal balls
or tea leaves can provide.

Ghosts, he once said,
press us on all sides,
and they control
what's happening,
but they are in
some past or future now.

A fallen tree
is like a man
or woman spawled
in some extremity,
and what has brought
them to that state
lies in their past
or future form.
Like all of us
the trees are on
a progammed course
from origin
to dissolution.
We feel the pull
of destinations.

Our lifelines cross,
collide
and interfere.
We and the trees
become
each other's ghosts.

I interrupt
the lifeline of
my chosen tree.

In consciousness
of what I do
I can look back
from what it aches
to be, and am
compelled to free
that future form,
bring back the tree
to a new starting point,
a future origin.