We're fairly far out now, well
past the harbor. We float on darkness,
look back to diminished city lights.
Stars gain candle-power. The sea
makes more sounds than we can
listen to. None of us knows
why we're out here, not really.
All of us fell short of
our dreams for ourselves. The
dramas of our lives are small
but exhaust us still. There is no
captain. We take turns at the helm.
hans ostrom 2014
