I hold a lodestone. Take note:
An unassuming object, a piece of rock seen
On trails, near a sparkling stream, in hazy morning.
Crouch down and pick up the one that catches
My eye. A shape unlike any other shape.
Uniqueness, that’s what’s truly magnetic.
What if some mythic beast learned where north was,
Knew where to turn every single time, every single day,
Didn’t need someone or something else
To help them on their way? Just by using
One of these magnetic stones, they would allow
The pull, the turn, to take them where they need to be.
They’d never be lost again. Thales of Miletus wasn’t
The only proponent. Spread your wings and fly to China.
Hop along elsewhere. Breathe fire against the sun.
If one had the ability to know where north was
Every second, without having to look at that sun,
Without having a map to lead them home,
Without having a one-eyed guide to push them
Through the unrelenting fog, how much freer
They’d feel! The back end of time still
Blocks the heat from backs, burrows into sand,
Swims where the cool crashes around iron and life.
The stones speak where nothing else could.