Still-wet clay

If there was a better way
a better time, place, mood,
world- I did not know about it.

For what is each new second but
an opportunity to learn of past failures
the river card reveals that you would have won
a poker hand long since folded.

The dike breaks, say,
and all the past flows
takes us all in its current

If all that came before was still-wet clay
to be moulded by our present selves
would we ever stop tinkering?

A masterpiece exists because the painter
stepped back and refused to add
one more brushstroke.

What I could have said
done, differently.

Sometimes
it’s best to let statues stand as they are.

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