Compass

for my brother, John

We have gone,
by and large, not where we have been pointed,
but rather where we have been drawn,
like metal scraps to magnets
or mad eccentrics, bent on finding proof
of the round Earth, eternal youth, lost cities
made of magic and gold.

We have come
to these places, settled among the natives,
and made ourselve invisibly
at home, but never more
than when we laugh
like coyotes howling
at the memory of a moon
so full, so blue, so close
it pulled the tides
so high they washed
away our tears.