David Schaumann, a poet, writer, and teacher, based in Dunedin in New Zealand's South Island. A member of The Ink Pot Collective, who fits in bursts of poetry amongst the hurley burley of the everyday.
She asked to be cast to
the four winds, those meager
four points on the compass.
356 degrees to remain,
Consider a sphere enshrining that plane:
Infinite empty points on a globe, bereaved.
And meaner still, the tiny remnant
to be dispersed: the ashes of a shadow.
Here at the compass's heart
the meridian seems unhinged,
an earth somehow devoid of
a magnetic core.
Natural enough, I suppose.
The center of our world is