Who Did This?

The relentless fantasy
Of decision renders acts
Difficult to understand

As anything other than choices,
From the color on the brush,
To the meal in the oven,

From where to spend small money,
To what to do with the day.
Surely even the sages

Who meditated on this
And stepped away from effort,
Even the saints who gave up

Decisions to God in prayer,
Remained haunted by choices—
Not so much the choices made

As those dancing in the brain.
You decide to bake a quiche
Prepared for you by a friend,

Who is kind and generous,
A good cook with a pantry
Well-stocked with the right supplies.

What role will your oven play
In the great unraveling
Of your civilization,

In the events of the life
Of this living, spinning rock?
Every small act comprises

Millions of tinier swerves,
Including your decisions,
Always clouding your vision

Like midges on a footpath.
How will you make it to lunch
When none of your steps are yours?