Braving uncertain water (pt 2)

Specular light patterns my face

as the river lap and ripples by,

the bird it flies

I know not where,

but the trees remain,

rooted to one spot they lie.

When sailors voyaged uncharted waters,

they looked upward

to paint a map

of seasonal editions 

varied as many as autumn leaves.

But in daylight glare,

in rush-hour trains,

I have nothing

as bearings to treat.

All around me are voyagers,

charting stories still unset,

destinations uncertain,

maps torn and broken.

We live in a whirpool,

that shifts the tides of fates.

Perhaps because all around me is relative,

the destinations I find are uncharted spaces.

The above poem is for the NaPoWriMo2022. Day 20.