New Directions

Seven days into the New Year
and it’s stalled, the day length
doesn’t change. Weather outlook:
same as yesterday’s. Rain
hides the horizons, masks dawn and dusk
so we can’t find east or west.
North? There’s moss everywhere.
No compass on land or sky—
no hands on clock or wheel—
no directions in the world. Distances dissolve,
and landmarks hide in grey
while the rain-wet maps melt
to multicolored slush.

I search my sleep for new continents
unexplored countries hidden
in the white folds of bedsheets
or dragon-hoards in the cave
inside the pillowcase. Spin the compass
and point it in new directions
like Over the Hills and Far Away,
Once Upon a Time, There and Back Again,
Ten Leagues Beyond the Wide World’s End.

Stephen Crane saw a man pursuing the horizon,
and thought it futile. But at least,
he was on the move—so give me a direction
and if you can think of nothing else,
out will do.