Map of lights
We’re
walking the highest point
breathing
light like oxygen,
rooting
memories in the trees
til here
we sit, composed and still,
eyes
consuming this easy earth.
Our birthright
fans out, opening
like a
map for the waking stars,
a
blinking grid of neon lines.
Bitter-sweet
coffee warms our bones,
breathing
out clouds like dragons,
imagining
the moon laughing back.
We’re so
high humans are invisible
as
though the whole world lies empty
of its
scurrilous consuming ants
and
nature will make a comeback,
creeping
the return of wolf and deer.
Copyright
Vickie Johnstone, October 2, 2020
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