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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