Like the seeming predictability
.....of the morning wind
..........every day, stinging and fresh with salt,
Or how the waves lull me to sleep every night
.....their hushed thud and hiss and crackle
..........akin to the voices of drowned storm clouds,
As if they too were swallowed by the hungry water
.....like the sun, and the moon, who sink into her depths
..........as they near too close the surface,
Just as the fate of all things have a path
.....I know that this path is not always clear like
..........the way the shallows cloud over when,
Hungry, schools of fish dart through its shimmering surface
.....leaving ripples in their wake flashing like the inside
..........of a rare and glorious shell,
Like the twist of a mangrove root seeking in that dim twilight
.....a place to gather the sunlight in order to grow,
The way the sand ripples in the wind
.....creating new works of art every moment,
Life is like the Ocean in this way.
.....Following a path, but always changing
..........nothing is ever the same, even in its familiarity.
Such is the way of Kismet, that distant future,
.....that unfound shell or piece of coral;
..........the new shoots of the sea oat.
