What might I be doing today if I’d stopped,
just once, all those years ago
to glance back at my burning city?
Where would I have been yesterday?
Where would I be tomorrow?
Whose story would I be writing now?
Whose life might I be living?
Would I still be living at all?
I’m powerless to stop these questions
from sparking up and burning
through my mind,
even though I know they are each
as inconsequential as floating flakes of ash
or fine grains of salt
scattered on the wind.
Haunted Avenues 