Skies the color of Gatorade,
And what we’ve made of life
Mocks us daily. We wonder
At the turbulence, though
In the end we settle
Into comfy questions—
Better the ambiguity
Of what we don’t know
Than the angst
Of unwelcome answers.
Most days we smile
And think we mean it,
Until the horizon,
All straight, smug certainty,
Swallows our hip ignorance,
And all our questions cease.
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