Multiple Choice

Did it just happen,
this life and its sudden disclosure?
Or was it raised
in ages, a glacier filling the entire valley?
Or perhaps a third choice,
an unimaginable vision past one's furthest dream?

If not two, then one.
If the one we have chosen appears true
but later we have forgotten this choice,
forgotten those first unequivocal mornings,
racing to the television with cereal and cinnamon toast,
the sound of mother's voice calling one inside
--it's too dark outside--
forgotten too that we were taught the opposite--
that light is something external,
not to be seen in others,
but by which to see them,
then this life can no longer be just one,
and it will continue to follow the road
that splits three ways.

The first word I ever spoke
must have borne a truth
and must bear it still.
From where I now stand
it is a long way back.