once or twice or

a thousand times more

the earth travels the sun

or the sea laps the shore

the quiet that comes when

the silence predicts it

the strange counter weight that is

needed to say it

you don’t know what is right

you guess only what’s wrong

you won’t take that road

that you knew all along

was the cul de sac

at the end of the road

you steer past that sign

for your very last act

that queer undeniable

heartbreaking fact

look over your shoulder

it’s useless, retract

she will always be rolling

that infinite boulder

she will until she is
immeasurably older
and stops for a minute
in webbed retrospect
knows she should have been laughing
seeking a cryable shoulder
once or twice or
a thousand times more
she lives to fill in
innumerable cracks
and that, as they say, is always that