Waves

I surf the surface of the sensual world
And wonder what the others see in it.
It seems to me so often they are whirled
About in random patterns that they fit
To false projections of a deeper truth,
While I slide lightly over realized chance.
Such frank admissions always seem uncouth,
As if they voided life of all romance,
Yet knowing as I know the fluctuations,
The variance and butterfly effects,
It is far better to make estimations
And then let fortune do what it selects
Than to believe in certainties unshown;
And so I surf; I fear I surf alone.