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Description
Trailing a line of stones in the sand,
making sure I still know the path
because if I don’t know where I came from,
how can I know where I’m going?
But I’ve lost the stones before,
many times I’ve lost that North Star

in the dark and cold while the wind is blowing,
which way am I supposed to be sailing?
There’s nothing around me but ocean.
So I pick a star, any star
(because any star will do)
and it becomes mine, my North Star,

until I lose my way again,
lose sight of the vaulted ceiling,
forget the color and bent of the sky
until I grab another, latch onto a lifeline,
clutch it close to myself, ask,
Are you it? Are you my North Star?

And it must be—
I have nothing else.