The One Thing (Poetry)

The one thing I’ll never be able to see
is what’s behind me
for by the time I’ve turned round
what was behind
is now in front
and in the space of that second
something has always changed
irrevocably

The one thing I’ll never be able to change
is the way I really am
for I am not the architect
of my own design
I may be able to paint my walls
a different colour
but the bricks and mortar of my being
stay the same
they occupy the same space
precisely

The one thing I’ll never be able to say
(at least with any pretense at certainty)
is that I know why I’m here
or even be sure where “here” is —
if “here” exists at all
and if it doesn’t (as I suspect it mightn’t)
then not one word of this matters
any more or less
than any other random thought
that springs to mind
in those wee small hours fuelled by fantasy
and all that futile longing
for some kind
of stability