Adrift:

Some would have you believe

that not knowing where you are—

where you began, where you will be—

should leave you ill with fear,

shaking and pale,

Twitching in fear at what

May—might—could be around

That faraway, O-so-close, corner.

And yet,

how many times have you

yearned to let that hand drape

out of your

gleefully disobedient craft

to caress the dark waters

of the unknown,

unnamed

ocean of the fate

that has guided your

boat of unfurled sails and

rudderless stern?

There is a certain comfort

In casting the need to know

Where,

when,

how,

—now?—

To the tides and winds,

Letting that finger trace

Whirlpools

And create eddies

As the bow glides

Parallel

to blue horizon.

Sit back in your little boat;

Hear the creak of the mast—

That snap of your flag in the wind—

Feel the sun on your body,

The rain as it batters your bare arms,

And float,

adrift,

in your ocean.