This poem is a tribute to the existential divide between possibility and probability. Possibility is the purview of free will, introducing new realities through choosing one option over another. Probability is the domain of calculation, predicting the course of endless strings of cause and effect events. Possibility is the realm of creativity, launching new cascades of cause and effect, and expanding meaning. Probability is the sphere of the walking dead, where all that matters is predetermined and life is but ghostly animation, navigating predictable paths. If predictability is what you are about, then probability is probably where you inhabit predominantly, with habitual domesticity. If fashioning new ways of being in the world is your manor of being, then possibility may very well be your first and last resort. Those preoccupied with mere probabilities will undoubtedly shortchange much purpose in life, and find themselves as serf the web of feudal circularity. Those spellbound by possibility will find immersion in life itself, imbued with meaning and the unfathomable intrigue of other free souls. The predictability of a deeply ordered universe provides sound launching places for curious and free spirits, but entreats us to much more than mere security and manipulating control, the ultimate vanity of the undead. May you find the incalculable freedom of possibility, inspiring others as you breathe in their spirit as well.