all the bridges burnt

you can’t rebuild
all the bridges burnt
no matter how hard you try
sure
you can walk into the ocean
the deepest of seas
with a little plastic bucket
(the kind a young child might use to make a sand castle) &
try as hard as you can
to bring back to the bellowing flames
a bucket full of water to
slowly splash out the chaos & torment left
by choices made years ago
but as quickly as you bring those buckets back
as quick as you think you are in this whole thing
(hell, you might even be a marathon runner or a triathlete),
you’ll never calm the flames---
you’ll never stop the burning &
(the damage has been done)
only you are to blame
(you get to live with it for the rest of your days).

no matter how lucid the dreams of reconciliation might seem,
you’ll always be savagely brought back to a
waking state,
standing on the shore between the tide rolling in &
that last bridge you burned---
lucky you, that you remember so well
lucky you, that it all will replay like some perpetual motion picture
never letting you truly rest, never a moment’s peace &
you’ll probably live longer than anyone you’ve ever known
with all these wonderfully colored sharp & hardened marbles
rolling round your skull
slicing & rolling
rolling & slicing,
so that nothing ever heals.