Trafika Europe 1 - Northern Idyll
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Wherever we are, there’s always someone further north.

Only at the pole would a compass twirl round, seek

magnetic certainty.

Wherever we are on this spinning hemisphere

Polaris tracks our staggering steps. She’s pinned

to the firmament; a support.

Wherever we are, north is a state of mind

with no slack: earth’s stitches taken in,

the top grafted off.

Wherever we are, a scanner would suspect

our identity the way a stick of rock displays

its origin.

Wherever we are, slipped loose like homing pigeons,

there is a path north. Something keeps tugging

that invisible thread.