This Improbable Life

It is incorrect to say
I have led my life. Instead,
say I followed it —

no, say I found myself
on a moonless path, then stumbled
from beginning to now —

no, say I fought to avoid cleared ground
with every stubborn step 
and ended up in weeds and thorns —

no, say now and then I landed
on soil packed hard and 
eons-deep by others and thought
I’d struck upon new territory —

no, do not speak of my life,
do not put a breath on it. Say instead
what I say of it: this has been
an improbable life

and where I am is not feasible
but I am here, without question
I am here — moving on,

tripping over roots
as I run with my eyes closed
over trails I’ve tripped on
one thousand times,

swearing whenever I fall
that I meant to do that.