Finding North

If there was a point
a sharp and needling point
where I should have said

it was in a past I no longer recall
in a place none of my ships will sail
the star that guided them
faded now and pale 

the compass point
a warped and wheedling point
urging me in another direction

your cut in my jib
devastatingly glib
the broadside that
left me listing to starboard
yet grateful
to be right for a change

and remembering the art
of reading my own chart
no longer drifting at your chosen
longitude and attitude
below the equator
where the sky reads strange