“Choosing” by W.S. Merwin

Was it home or foreign
that city without color
where I once lived for a time
that often seemed long
thinking there was no choice
and all night I heard the captive lions roaring

now I look back
from when the rain is falling
in the bright day

a friend and I
talked back then about a tree
whose branches were the choices that we
had not taken
then she chose not to be

never was there any such tree

better
the sound of the rain
better the brightness falling
better the day
choosing to be morning