At the edge of worlds

It was never supposed to happen.
It was never meant to come
to that crashing nexus in time
where everything was so sprawled
and scattered and exploded
and spilling out of our arms
as we desperately tried to contain it
and carry it with grace,
and so human, and alive
and at the same time so very
crystalline in its perfection,
its clarity,
ten thousand scattered muddy pixels
(wretched slippery parcels)
but a sharp, crisp picture
on the whole.
It was never meant to come to that.
But here we are, that crossroads
of life, and not life, and nothing in between
but a dirty corner between two roads
with two one-way signs leading off
to two very different cities,
and nobody here but you and I
and everything about "us"
draped around us.
We were always "us,"
but that was before
and this is a one-way street
and the light's about to turn.
There'll be plenty of time later
to look back down that one-way lane
and say with wizened authority
that it was right or wrong
to take the path we did,
but right now,
here and now
there's you and I
and "us"
and two different roads
with a right and a wrong
(or two wrongs? who'd know)
and never a map. I rev the engine.
The moment has passed.
It's time to go.