You walk on tracks that are and tracks that aren’t.
The tracks that are lead up and up, until
you see that big reveal. And it’s the view,
not tired legs, which make you pause, reflect,
converse, before you set off down the tracks
that might have been, but aren’t; the tracks that do
not lead to anywhere but unexpected
places: scree slopes, grey faces, pathless halts,
sheer drops, those undrawn lines you shouldn’t cross,
until you find you have to turn around.
Footsteps can’t be retraced, and so you take
a track that might be, may be, should be… is,
that takes you to your breathless destination;
the ending point. That place where you began.