We navigate by water towers,
wind turbines, slip roads to the motorway,
or tractors towing mountains
of fat round bales of hay.
We navigate by birds of prey
hovering above – that’s a kestrel –
or swallows gathering on the wires
discussing whether to go or stay.
We navigate to go somewhere –
it doesn’t matter where
just for the rhythm of the journey
just a jaunt or faraway.
for dVerse Poets’ Pub, with a nod in the direction of Miz Quickly, whose repetitive prompt I have already covered today. This poem is an anaphora.