Your best friend’s little brother went away
to college, came back gorgeous and
hilarious with absolutely
no time for you.
In Montana once, in Glacier Park,
your then-true love (a wild man) said, “Let’s go
to Canada—it’s right over there,”
and you said, “Why?”
You didn’t go, but now you know.
The quarry you never dived into.
The VW bus you couldn’t afford.
The autograph you didn’t ask for.
So clearly can you see the steps
you took from one dry stone to another
to get across each stream, so sensible and safe.
So often now your hampered heart
grips a maudlin balloon,
filled to nearly popping with regret.