We can never tell what’s going to twist us,
What’s going to bend us,
Before it does.
Was it that time in the abandoned apartment
Overlooking the parade?
Nobody remembered that but us.
And you’re gone now-so only me.
Or in the garage much earlier
With the gas and oil smells?
In your story it rates nothing
Not even a memory.
In mine, it’s all there is.
How about later-that quiet spot near the river
Where the logs were lying just so?
I wonder if you still have that mole
Which is all I would think of if I ever saw you again?
If you can look back and see what it was that turned you
Does that make you lucky?
Does seeing it help you to own it?
Or is knowing that it was always there
The only way to grow beyond it?
Drop the cause by the wayside.
You are what you’ve become.
Embrace the texture and keep moving.