It Was Good

When we were not old nor young we tracked and hunted; it never occurred to us for what, and it was good, that we never caught up with what we sought. We the gatherers, faithfully recording the momentous as well as the inconsequential, our straw words burned bright until their own ash extinguished the flames. The racing pulse of our sundry passions was never taken and so we took much and yet more, inventing perfect lovers from heedless imperfections. The years turn us around now; we look back. Tomorrow stretches away upon a pathway fashioned only for empty shoes and it was good that we were those reckless creators of both heaven and hell, good that we survived ourselves day by day and never thought to wonder how or why.