Even in moments you point and announce
“that is the North Star” clearly, but I do not
know up from down from east from west,
night from dawn from good decision or not,
even in this spinning compass confusion
the truth of ourselves it spills forth
seeps into stories as the sea to old boats
says remember that you are in my grasp
and without needing directions
nor want for light on the harbor
the animal innateness of ourselves
in the way gravity is never not there
finds the way to show itself