I would rather walk

than stop to talk

would rather let the cars roll past

their tires screeching, each to each

my hand out, reaching to beseech—

than stop to ask

I am stagnant

like water in a ditch beside the road

split by shores from where I might have flowed

a fragment

of a greater lake that never filled

a dream unlived is ever killed

I see myself upon that lake

my boat alone beneath the quiet night

I see the beaches bathed in lantern light

the shores, the others waiting over there

I reach out—stumble, only open air

I fear the frigid water's kiss

but I cannot go on like this

To dream forever going down

it would be easier to drown

by human voices in that lake

however long it takes to make

the last mistake

the last mistake