I want to latch my mind
onto the back of a butterfly and let it take me
off, gliding past bushes and hedges,
swerving by faces and paws,
whiskers, beaks and speeding cars
to flutter around treetops,
when I can step off and walk along the longest branches
to gaze out
See all the possible choices
spread out like drunken scrawls on a map,
overlapping and diverting,
on one point, one inciting incident that leads into many.
There is no point in looking back at what might have been,
those pathways have already crumbled.
I can only look forward
and hope the winds from the multitude of wing beats
my self away.