I made it around again. I earned this year.
Some years define us so sharply
we become grooved
Pattern cannot tell me the movement of the sea
it hides amoungst the random
it does what it pleases
we look to it as proof of God
that he put us here as if to order something
we cannot touch
There is no room for saddness
ballons and flowers and little pieces of romance
each trip round we want to mark
Float along, my piece of drift
that you may never touch the same swath of sea
nor get too entagled in the banks
or beaten upon the shore.
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