Point&Click

a poem

Myst, 1993

As a child, I sat playing puzzle games 
on a humming desktop computer. 
Click to interact. Click to advance. 

I hypothesized, I hoped, 
that moving through life
was simply a matter of 
poking the right thing in the right way.

Find the key to the old chest. 
Restore power to the radio tower. 
Fix the ship’s broken rudder.
Click to choose. Click to confirm.

The world was a void 
in which puzzles materialized, 
and I lost myself in them.

Every unlocked door 
was further proof of my righteousness.
Click to discover. Click to be absolved.

As each new room appeared 
on my growing map,
I began to see myself as a living document.
Looping, retracing, remembering. 

A perfect picture,
asking only for my devotional deciphering
where nothing could 
cross the proscenium arch
onto my skin, into my body.

Back then, 
when everything wanted to be solved, 
and nothing wanted to solve me back.

Now, every day, 
I must proceed into the darkness 
of a new doorway
without any assurance 
that my solution is correct. 

Click to be changed. 
Click to make painful peace
with what you have become.