If words are the stars
Poems are constellations.
You need to know the figure
To shape out meanings.
And wherever you move
every nightsky speaks
a different language.

I crossed the line —
and left my northern stars
at that invisible border.
They were confiscated by
the equatorial customs office.
But I smuggled my poems with me
so I can still speak to you.

I exchanged my Little Dipper
for Magellanic clouds.
Instead of Polaris
Sigma Octanis brightens my horizon.

And I reach up high and I dig down deep
as every plant that has been
pulled out by its roots.
Lucky to have Leo and Orion
To help me bear my Southern Cross.

— Gus Simonovic, “Equator”

(via obdormio)