BY DANIEL C HEIN
An infinite number of water drops
Tumble down onto my bare chest.
They land haphazardly, like missiles
Launched by an uncontrollable mind.
I pretend that there’s some force,
At present unknown, that chooses
The trajectory of each projectile,
But I know the real truth:
Every single drop lands randomly.
They are the beginnings of
The futures of water droplets,
Sewn by thoughtless hands.