Another Hymn for Saint Christopher

Every road takes me further
from home,  from here,  from
there,  beneath the lazy willow
where I used to fish phantom

trout as large as my belly
or there,  the sterile high school 
I infected with my first kiss
amongst rows of grey lockers

or way over there where I stood 
stiff in the wind of two oceans
smooth stones at my feet,
Africa looking over my shoulder.

With each glance at the map
I declined to take with me and 
careful readings of the cracked 
compass I never understood,

each step which tattooed the Earth 
brought me to this place where
monkeys pluck strings all day 
to the delight of dancing dragons,

the night belonging to us.