The precipice of tense-held breaths
gives way to heated sighs and heaving chests
And long before dawn does break
the evening lingers, long in wait
A compass leads us, waterlogged
through obscure forest and cold damp fog
The needle spins with absurd grace
to each wobbling step and choice of fate
Every direction is pointed wrong
When you know the rhythm, heard the song.
And why use it on paths trodden well?
Seeking baubles and jewels and bridal veils.
Walking in circles, for hours it seems
over crushed velvet and heated dreams
The determination of a scholar, wild
Wasted on the ambitions of willful child
The crystal ball need not be
a window to the future foreseen
For one can simply turn around
to see the future, all lain out.