Less seems to be certain
than it is to most.
No goal, no path
no certainty in the expanse of this
equally wandering sphere.

Yet I do not long for life
to be a never-ending circle on repeat.

My mystery lies in mystery itself
The clues are there yet
scattered, fragmented, apart
like leaves and rocks in a
trickling bed of shallow water.

Harmony may well exist
between these minuscule pieces
I only wish my puzzle was as complete.