A map is handy
for some...
Still-just rendering space
this here: that there
(imagining is not knowing beyond
what is not seen).
This world is flat,
trapped in a map,
cornered in labels and confined in lines,
open to borders-crossing...
Still-it plans
for speculation.
I drew a map,
of no place I know-
but discovered it anyway,
and I know
my way around this place
of space, like the back of my red hand
measured by my means, not in factors of feet
walking the picket. I had to draw it before I saw
it, a map of me in this place, no free-handed trace
left to write what else
could not fit-
why did I quit?
I'm at the edge of the world.
Peering over, dripping down,
chilling off, the trail simply stopped
mid-sentence, where the directions
should have shown, I should have known
without trespassing past the limits of Doubt.
Image By http://www.geographicus.com/mm5/cartographers/schoolgirl.txt [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons, c. 1810 described as schoolgirl whimsical Hartshorn map of Newfoundland.
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