Froth

We, the ephemera
Of bodies making worlds
From the worlds they're given,

Imagine we arrange
And maintain our bodies,
Our homes, ourselves, our minds,

Funny little wavelets
Generating spindrift
To manage the oceans.

Although we know we're not
In charge of anything,
Knowing we're not thrills us

Because any knowing,
Even of invalid
Incompetence stirs us,

For reasons we don't know,
To pray our lives, minds, waves
And winds will yield to spray.