Expect no rescue from a Cyclops with delicate hands
(apologies to Nietzche)
Say your life has become 100 compasses
lying under a magnet
attached to a string. The magnet sways
with each faint breeze. Your needles whirl.
Finding the way north
emerges as your primary problem.
You scan each horizon, search
for ice ax, or engineer-turned-surgeon,
wonder if your health plan will cover
an operation to stop the twirling --
precisely -- so your path is clear.
But north may not be the way to go,
what with snow, frostbite, no iPad,
real chance of frozen death --
and glaciers may not offset hell's heat.
Plus, with only one eye, could you focus
once all spinning stopped,
resist temptation, the shapely magnet,
her undulation -- block out
every siren's song -- regain sanity, vision,
bits of hope? In some circles,
it is said, sculpting angels of snow
brings redemption if you don't know
which way to go.