Maps

We are explorers of the soul

Cartographers of the consequential

Tender lovers and daring adventurers all at once

Willing to let our heart break again.

Willing to examine in stasis the viscera of a moment.

Poems are maps.

Not some frivolous or confusing gibberish but the fabric of reality at its edges, brought to light with as much detail as we can bare

When I write poetry I feel again what I felt, more deeply, seeking frozen for a moment what was and what is. A way back to a timeless place.

When you chop wood for the fire it warms you twice.

This is the job, as stalwart and methodical.

Infinity slides beneath our fingers, an endless abyss, and this noble act grounds us, lifts us, finds us and brings us home.