Right Art: A Haiku

The Fates

Why did you act like water and feel like hands

And I, born thirsty with never a progenitor to touch me

Why did I, the reluctant saint, concede nonetheless to True North’s tug

And you, the only lesser god ever worth worshipping

Who would cross that ridge
And not recognize heaven
Who’d not worship there

They often fail,
ask where to grasp.
Despite that they
in prayer do clasp.

He says, “Be still
-your pen won’t swerve
put it down now,
begin to serve.”