I am a sailor
living on a landlocked prairie,
in an oven of continental heat.
A seed
falling from a feather,
finding a ledge
on a gloomy coast,
blooming with the sun
of a meadow.
The incongruity of chance.
Like the child
with a gift for symphony,
handling a jackhammer.
The woman in a nunnery
dooming the motherhood
in herself.
What of fate?
Its wonderful children?
Lives that begin in storms
and end in summer.
How so little
or so much
comes our way.
Intelligence.
Friends.
A loving family,
or none of these.
Yet,
the will inside ourselves
to create the beautiful,
and have
no regrets.