Where The Frigid Water Shifts

Let me locate my North star.
Let me lick my finger and find the wind.

I started to wonder, having stumbled
behind more than once, if you kept intending
to lose me or if we just have different paces; wondered
if altitude was the hand holding me back, if
I should have worked harder.

But there never seemed to be enough
air for both of our voices and I realized
that even if I ran myself breathless
up one side of this mountain
and down the other—I still wouldn’t reach you.
I was surprised how unfamiliar I’d become to myself,

I’m down at the river, where the frigid water shifts
and begins to pick up speed. I haven’t been
so much lost, as not paying attention; not so much
alone, as leaving myself behind.

Let me follow the moon until I make it
back home. Let me feel my way
by the lichen on trees.

Published in West Trade Review, June 2019

This poem may not be reproduced without the author's permission.