And we're still waiting for the sheet to be pulled out from under us.
We fleck the surface of the grand Earth,
like tar on shimmering snow.
We all believe we follow our own paths,
but there are just too many of us,
and many of us follow each other
in the grooves and folds made by those that came before.
Or perhaps the wrinkles were here from the start,
And our mother's face was scoured with our destinies (destiny?)
before we even began.