By Alice Miller

We make a map to throw upon the world
to catch the unknown islands that grow thin
to stop the ocean surging up to meet
the feet of folk who used to know the tides
There’s never been a hierarchy of trees
and I know nothing but to clamber up
to watch the human heads I know below
and throw our map upon them as they go
because our screens refresh us every minute
and soon we’ll know just which paths to take
our programs will erase all cold       all distance
to point to lands that reach beyond the myth
but now the water’s pouring up the hills
because we cannot map the ocean still

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