A Woolgathering Exodus

The compass is stuck; direction destructs

Petty for want of maintaining a precedent
The canopy smirks at argument
A verdant recess worthy of still-life
Feet on new floors and the charms of an aleph

Genesis in the occident
Parenthesis of a continent

Allegiant to the idea there is only a right place
Eras inside themselves, unrepentantly effaced
I clutch my few, who stay with me like an aura
And tend the garden well, giving rime to the flora

The compass is stuck
The lamb is amok

The compass is stuck; directions destruct