I am compass.
my arrow constantly spins
but always, always
settles back to pointing North.
I search for higher ground
where the air is absent of heat
and frost drips like a molecule of lessons
from my lashes.
The air is pure here, I know
In all directions I can turn,
to see gentle fires in the distance, where others
and laughter is the language of their night
My footprints are a solo etching in the snow
they carve out the measure of my soul
until I arrive at the Northern most point of me
I watch as a thousand tiny shards of sky
drop like thunder from above to reveal
the misdirection of my youth.
I remember how it is to be with someone
how with every latent touch…I come ever closer
to learning where my light belongs.
© 2010 mstrace
I’d like to be a compass for just one day.