Do not judge me by the side
on which I paddle my canoe:
I swing my pull from left to right
or back that I may run the stream
with prow conniving for the goal.
Straight on: though my course meander,
divert by high portage,
and halt for either a single sleep
or a season of ease and gathering,
I do not stray; I stay my course.
The map I follow is drawn in dream,
rivulet and willow marked in mind;
shore and mountain veering by memory.
My region is here, my allegiance now.
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