Compass to the north

Few things twinkle greater than the stars.
But I know some. Yeah I know some.
And in frequent spells I stop and stare
at their excellence. It's excessive and yet
it's unfair

to those who are without.
There's precious little they know about this town,
or the eyes of the girl in that velvet nightgown.

Hold tight to keep the shivering down.
I'm knocking knees and locking teeth.
Avoid the downcast looks and doubt
from the pessimists, all the narcissists.
But it's okay,

those others are without.
Lost alone in the fringes of the crowd
with empty stares not worth guessing about.

The years drift by, the view keeps getting better,
like the tide rushing sand or magnets toward each other.
Like a compass to the north or a lighthouse for a sailboat--
saltwater at my hull, she keeps this sailor afloat

for now, at least. It's victory.
There're deserts to cross and seas to see.
We'll burn our fears and hitch a ride
past the summit peaks and the changing sky.
And that's fine,

not much defies the sun,
or the way its light scatters horizon
and the twilight lingers just before it's gone.

But I know some. Yeah I know some.