Possibilities

And possibilities --
OH do not tempt, and say no more.
I could spend the rest of my life collecting nothing but books.
They would fill my nostrils until I could not stand the smell of dust.
They would fill the room.
And when I finish I can give my children them.
And they will know me by my underlinings and by the quotes that I have writ in the margins.
And they will die someday.
And my books will mildew and mold, and shape no lives and they will fade.
But I never lost any possibilities --
NO, even when I lost all else I always held my possibilities like a pagan talisman across my chest.
And fleets across the dark broad seas to find Ulysses will sail in pursuit of gods beyond compassion and worlds without darkness or light.
The only possibility that I will still not accept it that I only have one possibility to live.
That possibilities exist does not entail that I may take a part in all.
But with so many in my hands, I feel each page and smell the glue and binding and I sigh.
Then letting loose the window, they take flight into the atmosphere.

July 4