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The Crooked Compass

The sundial misses the hour.
So what.
Clocks lie too.

Shadows hesitate,
but hesitation
is still movement.

The woman tracing her coffee rim
isn’t lost —
she’s sketching a coastline
that might yet exist.

And the kite,
slack in the sky,
still holds colour.

Even fading,
it insists on being seen.