All that we can see
Holds nothing to all that can be
And as we go
Along this holy road
To places that were always there
Finding friends equally aspiring to dare
The foreign and the known
Are a matter of what is shown
The desire to leave
Precedes the need to bereave 
And that waters the dry soil 
For imminent growth and necessary toil
An immediate defeat
Denied a permanent cleat
At the dock of our dream's harbor
Seek the nuance though it be harder
For buried in that drift
Is the force of shift
That the wise view not as loss
But as a chip from the superficial gloss
Blurring the image of what is.