we always think of
ourselves
as important

the underdog hero
the main man
the victorious heroine

and because we do always
think that way
we begin to feel it

so the universe
thwarts and disappoints
we find obstruction

blocks the road in
most every direction
we turn to step in
(we may all know what
that looks like)

stories move along
around us, swirls
of event and desire

wholly unconcerned
sordidly nonplussed
by our consternation

considered insistence
that we are the ones
in the eye

in the storm
whose arc leads
from ochre horizon to
archipelago

across seas and
caves, buoyed in
the soft chains of narrative

it is in precisely this
world that we must flourish