Not all who wander are lost.

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The Crossing

Two roads cross over unremarked ground

It’s here, I know, that I have found—

Where bone-bright stones ford snakeskin stream—

A choosing less sure-footed than when sunlight bound

I’d yearned for left-hand turns or lanes wherein to dream.

A sign notes “Doubt - once ‘round, Clarity - thrice or more” so on the seam

I spin without a sound

Three times to find not two roads but four from which to deem

With whose jeweled milestones I would be crowned.