the overlook

Some places we have to go,
we can't get back from on our own.
Some places we have to go,
we don't. We didn't have to.
Some places we don't have
to go, we didn't go at all
- we never went. Just wound
up, ended up. Just found
ourselves. And found we can't
get back from here. It happens
so without intent, consent
or notice, knowing looks,
without a hint passed
in our minds, without a sign

we stand atop an overlook.
Upon this life, gaze out and down
for miles around, and not one path
we see to bring us back to it.
Unsafe and just about as sound
as we'd expect, we face a choice:

trudge ever on and up, in hopes
some higher vantage shows the way,
perhaps shout out from cliff and bluff
ourselves the echo is a voice,
or turn back, though we know
we do not know the way we came.
Or just back up way back, then
run flat-out to fly into the view

that looks so different from up here,
and never will be quite the same.