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but suppose it’s not a river

suppose instead you are laying

down bricks one by one

and with each new brick

all the old ones stack up

behind you to form a wall

so you can see all the bricks

that got you here -

the city you chose

and the love you didn’t -

but you can never return

you can only gaze at the choices -

the ones you’re glad you made

and the ones you wish you hadn’t -

and sometimes it was not even your own

hand but that of another and it seems

unfair that such blocks must remain

that their permanence is not yours

to claim but if you stare here too long

you will never recognize the clearing

behind you and all the places still left

to travel so where will you go from

here?

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