Five roads
unfinished, undestined,
banked with a scatter
of coin, their heads pitted
like a henhouse’s
seed-stippled ground,
clawed and pecked,
every path too low
or high to keep a footing on.
At every draw,
choice yields to regret,
every turn a wish
for a reversal, for
revision of the last,
a means to unmake the stretch
before and lay it new,
rescore, recast.
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