Troubled is the heaviness still brewing from the feud,
As you chew upon the bitterness that our fathers have fed you,
Bent and burdened shoulders cannot accept embrace,
So I beg you, my beloved brothers, let me bear some weight.

Some went West
and others went East.
The ones in between
found they liked South the least.

The traitorous winds
carried news from the mouth
of a stranger who wandered
the dreaded South.

They said:

"Glory and war in the West.
Peace and sacrifice in the East.
The North holds freedoms and complex rules.
The South has no time for such duels."

Those of the West,
those of the East,
and the Northern inbetweeners
listened with incredulity.

But the Southerner just repeats:

"Glory and war in the West.
Peace and sacrifice in the East.
The North holds freedoms and complex rules.
The South has no time for such duels."

"If we fight not for glory,
then why fight at all?
War is a necessary evil!"
Those Westerners say, how uncivil.

"Peace cannot yield
without sacrifice.
Someone always has to lose their life!"
Easterners cry full of strife.

"Freedoms are protected
if you follow the rules.
Speech must be regulated, calm, and cool."
Said from those under Northern rule.

But the Southerner repeats like a record loop:

"Glory and war in the West.
Peace and sacrifice in the East.
The North holds freedoms and complex rules.
The South has no time for such duels."

Then the wind finally stopped
spreading its message.
But the lofty seeds that traveled with the wind,
planted themselves in places they've never been.

And they started to grow into something more.
Freedoms and rules.
Peace and sacrifice.
Glory and War.

You finally called me,
after four years.
You said it was the only number
you had ever committed to memory,
and you were wondering if it was still
connected to me on the other side.
As it rang in my unsteady palms,
I thought to myself about how
you probably still cuff your Levi's
so that they hang above your
black and white Janoski's,
and write songs about lovers,
cruising the streets
listening to our favorite band,
that I only fell in love with
after you left.

You talked just like you did back then,
gently and sweetly,
and I was scared
because I knew how you used to
pull me in and never let me go.
We spoke about our separate lives,
and you said you didn't write anymore,
and it turns out
you only knew one album
by that favorite band
all along.
You told me you were happy.

I think we stayed together
out of fear, because
it felt like home,
and who wants to be homeless?
So I guess I'm still in love
with the old you
the thought of you
the person I could vent to
and I compare everyone I meet
to the person you were
before your taillights escaped east
into the New England fog.

Above all
I thank the stars
For the gift of wayfinding.

Above it all
I gaze higher still
Or to the sunlit valleys below
To find my way.

The gift of terrifying awe as Orion's belt peers through the trees, bringing South.
The gift of sure confidence as I point the Dippers out to others, bringing North.
The gift of guesswork as we discover behind which peak the sun will rise, bringing East.
The gift of inevitable hush that descends along with her, bringing West.

The gift of heavy elements
Composing all
And my body
And these eyes
That were also made for
Reading maps,
Reading signs,
Reading animal sigils.

Above all
I thank the stars
For teaching me
To be less blind
And to find My Self
In the world.