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Whaarivver we ir, der aye someen nort-by.
Only at da pole wid a compass birl, seek
magnetic certainty.

Whaarivver we ir on dis tirlin hemisphere
Polaris tracks wir waavellin. Sho’s preened
ta da firmament; a stey.

Whaarivver we ir, nort is a state o mind
wi nae slack: aert’s loops taen in,
da tap grafted aff.

Whaarivver we ir, a scanner wid jalouse
wir belangin da wye a stick o rock aans
hits origin.

Whaarivver we ir, slippit laek homin doos,
der a gaet nort. Somethin keeps nyiggin
dat invisible treed.

Selected by the Scottish Poetry Library. Reproduced with the permission of Christine De Luca.

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