The Forest and the Wood

I.

The woods, once (and not so long ago)
Spoke to me only of possibility;
They would not let me go, 
Provoking that restlessness of heart which is longing in the dark
The forest was there not so much for going anywhere
But only to be explored

No more:
Now I see there are simply too many paths
And though the beauty still enraptures me,
The past is past, and
Something has been lost
A die is cast
And I can't look past the growing realities
Of dust and ash
As, I am, apparently,
All grown up
And not so very far from old
Like autumn before the cold

I no longer think I can undo them—the forest or the many woods
Not as I thought in my youth, to unlock their puzzle,
And though I would pursue them, still,
Despite their inextricability,
My energy is not what it was
(A new-found cruelty)
Making the mounts all seem insurmountable
A treasure destined to remain locked

So
My road is chosen,
My lot is cast:
My forest paths
Have all become singular
As age has one at last

II.

And yet
There is now a forest in me
Like a garden growing gold in August,
Its autumn seeds to sew

It is now my task to explore one daily path
And to wear it down in love,
Until every stone wears soft
Worn like faithful bones, to hold others up
Yes:
A path for children to walk
A path for coming home

And so I’ll no more roam
Not in the forests of the world, anyway
In this one wood only, I will love
And call my own
And make a home