On winter mornings, I'm too cold to watch the stars.
Huddling into collar and pockets, hunched into
myself. I'm not looking to see where Orion's
pointing his arrow, or if his dogs caught the
bear. I'm staring at my feet, face against the wind,
wondering at reflections in pavement. My hands
too numb to trace curves north, I still know --
(I am not lost. I'll have fought. I'll have
persevered, and I'll find my way home.)