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.

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