Chord of a Circle

The shield of frozen earth,
steps tolling on the turf cover.
I feel the smooth touch of rustling twigs,
I hear it with my feet,
with the leather of my boots as a microphone.

The darkening sky,
my eyes sweeping from a bright spot to another one.
Immeasureable distances are too easily passed.
My eye makes the trip,
the retinae like deserts.

Recently, I realized:
I’m walking in a circle.
What a shocking notice in a fog.
The South has turned to the North.
You have to change strategy.
You cannot deny your mistakes,
not ignore your traces,
your staggering steps,
your old sleeping berths and campfires.
A new direction, new points fixed.
How noble.

I wander across the circle,
through the desert of myself
from edge to edge of my eye.