our deaths are usually
a collection of hours
and mundane decisions
uprooting our pushpin
from the place marked
You Are Here
We Are
until that fateful morning
or unexpected night
or plane ride
or gunshot
We Are Here
sharp as a thumbtack
holding together
the very fabric of the earth
we are writing this in stone
carving our paths
with each yes and each no
in glorious stride
inescapable end
we choose to push our pins
just a little bit deeper
each step heavy
exercising our freedoms
and with each the refrain
I Am Here