·Midpoint


Like a distracted mariner on a cloudy night

Compass buried in some deep pocket while dreaming

Of roots in steady ground

I forget the old ways;

Years spent learning the names and inevitable arcs

Of human and planetary tides.

Restless currents meet,

Slow and bearing warm wet southern seeds,

Cold and lucid from the north;

Holding my vessel with equal caresses

They cancel all movement

While I scan the horizon for signs

At a time when all earthly things

Have gone to ground