Choose Headlong
Somewhere between
moment and mind
is a line.
I picture it red,
and it appears
here, now,
and reads in an endless, infinitely small script,
“make a choice, make a choice, make a choice, make a choice.”
We cannot see the other side.
Where has it been?
Was it here yesterday, flouncing along
the invisible edge of no and yes?
Did it hide in the accordion folds of now?
And shall we cross it?
Meanwhile, between tonight and starlight
10,000 times 10,000 more choices appear,
some clear.
Most we never see.
And some become lines, like this one,
which has fallen on the floor in front of us,
a thin red stripe that invites.
And so we toe the moment.
And what? Retreat?
Run headlong and leap?
Or waltz another round
on the shrinking stage of maybe,
this once-comfortable place
where feet still know
at least for now,
which step comes next.