“But if each life is not new, each single life, then why are we born?” – Ursula K. Le Guin

to experience
as the leaves fall 
and rest upon
the frosted ground
remembering how
they unfolded 
just months before
in the springtime air

how the child 
crossed the street
not returning 
never to be seen again
having disappeared
into their own drawing
of a storm of hope
on a winter day

where life is an extreme
experiment in truth
and the possibility
of grander vistas
lures the eyes 
down the block
and around the corner
into adventure