Poem

Shelter

in the moss
on the backs of trees
I can always find
my way
home
and by memory
of Starry sunlight
in your sextant eyes:
North, South, West,
East. It is
a great comfort
to hear you,
your compass words,
if only in my head
where they always sound
sweet, intrinsic, full
of knowledge
of things I know
nothing of.