Fog claims the distance,
leaving the dock, the water, and me.
Weathered planks roll and buck,
I am less safe on solid ground,
Everything I shouldn’t want upon that beach.
So I cannot set foot upon the sand again,
For fear I’ll never leave.
Can you see our Maybe Road
Peeking from the twisted oak?
A lifetime of what could’ve been
Had I traded yes for no.
The ferry comes and I step on board.
You’d call it a decision in itself.
In the sliding gray, I am offered no reflection,
Merely a shadow of myself.