Archive
11/03/09 - (1)
Destination
Never, upon waking, daily, Can you determine, with precise clarity, In what direction your destination lies Or, as the crow flies, Just what your E.T.A. might be.
For that matter, your fate, hour to hour, Is up for providential grabs, Dependent on prevailing winds At the beck of shifting whims Conspiring, from the west, to do you in.
Indeed, so intense, minute to minute, Is your attempt to make sense of your vector That you often forget your mission: To get from one side of twilight to the other, Before night erases your flight.
11/03/09 - (1)
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