the outpost of the moment
the lighthouse of momentum
the breeze from the fickleness of breath
all the senses,
rocking up and down,
looking for where to land
if at the captain’s wheel,
the helm with it all!
yet without actually touching it directly
letting fate steer the day forward
life could be the sail filling
the draw from currents already assigned
beyond direction intended
can’t fall forward
when balance seems to be necessary
the horizon fills
as if these clouds are ever so intended
sea for yourself
is still a puzzlement of philosophy
how can I be both . . .
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