Compass

She fell, spine first
Into the intricate folds
Of his palm
Deep, sweet,
criss-crossing lines…

For her,
It felt of cool earth and high grass
He smoothed her over
With his thumb
Delighted by something
Bright,
mysterious.

When the time came
He held her to the sun
And opened her
Like a compass…

Imagine his surprise, then
When he discovered
All her needles spinning –

But then where do we go?
He wondered…
I am already home
She called in return.

And like an old owl
She flew to the high rotting barn rafters
To watch him lovingly…
cautiously.

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