Daybed with Nightbook

We know things about you that
You don't yet know yourself, but
We only know them in terms

Of probability. We
Are the quincunx constructed
To plausibly determine

Where you are increasingly
Likely to fall but never
Where you will actually fall.

We cannot erase the sense
Of your insignificance,
Your right as a sentient

Being, but we can place you
And your insignificance
On a scale that measures both

And justifies the latter.
Take this note. You should to bed
And never get up again

But probably you'll defy
Your destiny long enough
To lie about wondering

How you wound up standing here,
Journal in one hand and cane
In other, lost, disabled.