What if
I remembered
the way light held on
to the river rocks
three blocks from my house
or how geese
my last autumn in Nebraska
gathered and settled
like ritual
in a cold field.
I could follow the rivers
where I grew up
the way a child’s drawing
follows the lightning
in that early mind.
I make a map
each time I learn a place,
each time I know
its rhythms of traffic and birds
and sun between barns
and neon food shops.
Cartography
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A Hard Thing in a Beautiful Way
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