Maps IV
For N
he sutures the rip in our map-tapestry with his tongue
the way his soft white beard emotes makes me swoon
this compass always points Us so when we veer
independent
the latitudes lead heart-forth
& the starry sky flips, falls on our naked
time has no place in this legend
love atlas-es, outlasts each body
& yet, we tongue eternal
VANESSA SHIELDS 