Requiem For a Paper Boat

The reason no longer matters. The finality towed out behind that small, paper boat has now severed possibilty and left the hand that launched it, empty. Birds follow, singing a requiem. I want something in its place, large enough to envelope thought, accomodate catastrophes and offer vistas of stars, galaxies and out towards that edge where all things cease and exceed understanding. I would like something that creates no fracture or disturbance in the order of things, but settles gently and calms the rush and anger boiling on the surface of where life is lived. To have no hierarchy but that given gladly in the inherent value of life itself, to accept what falls from fate and celebrate that which comes forth in the exquisite play of this unfolding world.