You make your way in bursts of frenetic activity,
Weaving dizzily from target to target.
No one took you out on the water
And turned the tiller over to you,
With instructions to focus on a distant point
To keep your course correct.
But I assume you have a destination in mind;
Perhaps you don't—no matter.
You're bound to reach a place of rest eventually,
With your exploratory methods.
©2016 Michael Fraley
Back to Poem-O-Rama