Seed-stitched scars of braille
The contours of our own journeys
We are tumuli and burial mounds
Knot-embroidered onto silken maps
Filled with emptinesses of unexplored spaces
Where bodies froze in the unexpected ice drifts.
Automated navigators sneer with knowing all the ways
But in those gaps there were always monsters.
Trace their swimmings in tattoo welts
Feel the voids where we hold them still
Awaiting black water passage
In each new-opening lead.
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