Whim, miscalculation, leaps of faith.
Let me count the ways I screwed-up,
if there are numbers enough in the black-
holey universe. Specifics get bogged
in listing wreck sub-genre. Let’s declare
history a grave site, swim back to light,
to colonies of corals, to oxygen.
This time I’ll avoid narrowing sea caves
that fail to open into imagined palaces
with buxom mermaids and treasure chests.
Attuned instinct needs no sign that says,
Dead End Ahead but mine, often,
was out of tune. I am human so
did learn something: Even now,
on this quest for a place to rest,
I retain the capacity to run aground
and injure others if they are dozy
enough to putter in my wake.
There’s still time for error and
that is a priceless piece of info.
