Day 11

I keep looking for your hands in the hands
Of my new lovers. I can't find true North
When I'm driving East and you're to the West.
A year ago I knew the difference from
A sparrow's call and a thrush's warble.

A year ago I could conjure birch tree
Or beech tree from a bare branch. I listen
For your voice when I come around corners.
The big dipper isn't sprawled across the
Windshield of my car headed west on 90.

I keep trying to read the braile of "I
Love you" in the skin of my new lover's
Back. A year ago I knew every word
To "Lone Ranger" (Rachel Patten). It's just
My inner compass has fractured, the glass
In pieces, the needle spinning without
Direction.