The map of me is not the same; A quarter century built new roads to who I am.
The destination a geography unchanged But Google Earth images read like an old trail cam.
Loving you more than the merciless sea.
My tears feed that interminable well,
Chalky white hyperosmolarity
Etching pathways, a GPS to hell.
Your hands once sure to find their way at night,
Can’t traverse the same lands upon the dawn.
The paper atlas’ scale reads only half right
An X marked treasure never clearly drawn
When young, pencil worked in our cartography
When old, we should trace those lines again with Sharpie.
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