The path crumbles dusty and brown leaf dry
Descending finally in straight wooden lines--
It can't decide
Whether to be dock or boardwalk or balcony
Over six inches of water.
That is what I feel today,
All that sky and river beyond
And the forest's organic meander
Brought up sharp and stable and obvious.
The choice is there of course...
Step off, go around, decline to be herded
Onto planks and paint.
It is the inevitability of it
The chest high safety bars
That make me most want to weep.
How we are driven into confinement
And think ourselves blessed by the views.