Dana Sees the Southern Cross

Off Terra Firma sixteen weeks now. My legs take roots; my eyes become infinite. Past the Tropic of Cancer, the Lesser Antilles. Talk of brown skinned girls, Purple Clouds of Magellan. The Southern Cross peeking above the horizon at 18N°. Those first few nights I stared at the wrong stars in my confident knowing. A seabird landed on the gunwale and mocked me, “Sunk now are your North Star and Great Bear.” “Sunk now are your North Star and Great Bear.” I unlock an ancient mystery. You take shape like a paragon in the sky. Four beaming stars agleam forming the points of a cross. Climbing higher and brighter. To be steered upon due south. By Terra Del Fuego, you are directly above. Your language is universal. Taking up our stern till we sink into the El Salvadorian night.