It’s not a digitized road we’re on.
No map, no guide, no roadside sign,
no highway marker lines are drawn
to point our way through birch and pine.
Some others beckon for us to heed
their narrow, worn and dusty path,
and live and love by fetid creed
or face a fire and boundless wrath.
We smile and wave to wish them well,
but turn away to seek instead
a way that’s free of warning knell,
a way in which to life we’re led.
The wind will speak of starlit charts
and we will know them in our hearts.