Regret

between burial and birth

I hold this regret
like it is going to bury me.
Who will come to my funeral
my past,
or me?

I hold this hope
like it is going to keep me.
Who will come to my birth
my future,
or me?

Everything in the past
moves toward the future.
The present feels lost,
pulled backward,
longing forward.

Everything in the future
comes from the past.
The present feels certain,
held together
by regret,
by hope

like the past,
like the future.