The Unchosen
not mine exactly, those unchosen
remaining in the odd half-life of possibles
careers considered and abandoned
their corridors un-walked
my tread a ghostly absence
among the actual pacing of others
my voice not raised in their debates
their jargon unlearned, their books unread
further and further from those turnings
fading toward the utter silence of spaces
between galaxies without reaching it
apartments and houses walked through
not chosen in actual or online house-hunting
women I rejected or who rejected me
our never-children hovering around each new choosing
seen, half-seen, unseen
the last the largest group
the never-consequences of every choice
a mob at a political rally or a hanging
a movie premier, a ball game
crowds of strangers jostling, shuffling, muttering or yelling
all of them younger some much younger
our notice slides over them, lingering
when the chosen disappoint us
they are the still children of every choice
we are the loud children
The Dog Star 
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