River pilots and odd accounting

My bills are paid and the garage emptied

of all my lounging wear and raincoats.

The downpour outside strums indeed

a somber but steady set of colored notes.

The torn fragments of respect and greed

meander down the river, barely afloat.

Guileless moviemakers watch the feed

of Earth, channel deception and gloat.

My receipts, buried in a box in the reeds,

remind me that there is more in life to tote.

There is more in life than I perceived

and it is this more that pilots my boat.