ocean

          Were it not for sails,
    Where would we be,

‘Sides a quotient
      Of oxygen
              O’er hydrogen?

    Drowned is us,
            Yet froth-rolled
      To breath again.

        Our chance?
    All happenstance,
            Save the one.

            Where we’ve been,
    Where we’ll be—
        Far from sand and done:

      Question marks
            Hung ‘mongst the stars,
    Magnificently.

              They magnanimously
      Want to know
What I can’t.

    And, awe-silently,
          That’s okay with me.

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    Poetry: Quicksand
        https://windstrewn.com/2020/09/19/quicksand/