If hearts were compasses would you be North:
An ever -permanent direction set
By which all else relatives are set forth
(As though, turn we, the needle not forgets)?
Or are you the magnet to which I spin
(For - proceeding - find I returned again
To a dark projecting North Star Siren.
Always 'back then' and 'if' but never when.)?
But like compasses at a pole - my heart -
Rendered inert - returns itinerant,
And seeks new ways to navigate my chart
With eyes - skyward cast - lost in wonderment.
As such, past loves guide we from prisoners
And wayward from the learn'd astronomers
