No birds, short light. Sure night. Long.
No song. Big dipper sideways—a question

mark, a question. No direction, which way

Up, up, up. Love, an atlas. Was. No question,
all directions. Love, seven continents. All. 

Now, away. Now, missing. Heart: sand.
Co-ordinates unknown. Know this,
trace.

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When writing the set of poems this is part of, I had a break-up and had just moved 500 miles from home. These poems are about isolation, and that struggle. Who hasn't felt bereft, as though walking a lonely, unpredictable, cold, unmapped terrain?