Making magma

I’d like to draw a map of you

for perspective,

for options,

for borders, both imaginary &

reactionary.

Your vellum,

I now know like the belly of my palm.

And our lines converge, overlap, and seal off

familiar territories, provincial islands of natives,

like Us where

there is a sense of belonging,

lining up and finding places 

specific to our likeness and 
locale is in a sense

relative to distance to each other

within our limited spheres

flattened as Atlas can get
and remain.

Two souls collide Here, two bodies melt,

there two souls trapped, 
surrounded bodies of turbid water 

that become brackish by exchange.

This is all I can do 
with nothing else to make

but more magma

in these uncharted lands
and move on. 

Painting by D. Howard Hitchcock (1914) 'Moon and stars over Diamond Head' in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

Elevation in feet

From those dark mountain valleys etching destiny

like palm lines

We conjure up rain and ropes,

tethering our dreams to vibrant green acres of horizon

radiating our perspectives of

voluminous bubbling energies under

entropic skies

over there.

If only

we had more energy,

if only

more time...

We would make it up

and over and climb higher to see

what is

over the top,

finally.

The other side

is sleep.

Painting by Winslow Homer, In the mountains, 1877, in [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.