Tranzodiac

This random scatter of stars, in which
we are pulled,
in fatal gyre,
from place to place, connecting islands in space.

Ink and line, time's thread.
Fate unfurling like a fern's fine fingers,
the tumbled path of water around random rocks,
this scatter of stars, in which we are pulled
in ever-flow.

In the infinite line of our life,
for we know only life,
this segment of foaming river,
around jagged dark rocks,
this random scatter of stars, in which
we are pulled
in fatal gyre,
in which we seek pattern and meaning,
this space in which we live.

© Mark Sheeky. Permission is required for reproduction.