Otherworlds

Is there room enough, even
in infinity,
for all those other worlds?

So many choices made,
uncountable in every quantum moment.

Shattering creation.



Consider the angled stone
striking the waves,
precisely,
given life
and flight
and time to ward off entropy

------------------------------------------------------(for now).

But this ocean is no limpid pool,
reflecting
but one image.
Fractured futures fly away from now,
a startled flock
that scatters in the wave-tossed spray.



Such multiplicity must surely be
impossible,

and yet...

And yet, those other worlds -
no, there is no room, there cannot be.

They cannot be, and so they
overspill and overlap with ours.



We walk our lives a thousand different ways,
breathing
life into the might-have-beens,
gasping
in a random desperation,
resuscitation

doomed to fail.

Scattershot, the weighted probabilities resolve.
Fragmented
threads of unnumbered mirrored worlds are spun into reality.



But that other world,
first-noticed,
the one that touched us oh-so-deeply then.

The stone inside our hearts.

It skips once,
twice,
beating in its own short rhythm.

Then sinks beneath the waves.