Flotsam, jetsam - It does’t matter much how we arrived,
We are all sailors
On this great sea of air.
Like the great navigators who came before us And the ones who will follow, we
Each must find our way without
The aid of map or compass.
Our instincts and the whorls of stars in the black night and the
Loop of the sun across the great blue expanse of sky,
Invent each day with their radiance,
Making something new of the cosmic stew.
With only the vaguest notion of what’s to be
And just a dash of where we are going,
We wander about, directionless, urged by the wind,
Singing the stories of our lives into existence.