Topography of a Poem

really, it’s simple:

you’re reading some inscrutable map of

a costal range, the various elevations

labeled in pink and white curves,

elongated figures, truncated names,

infinitesimal details,

your fingers zooming about the page,

as if the touch of flat terrain would

curl around your location.

all you need is one word, really.

most often it’s your word.

when you find it,

it’s like stepping into the mirror of laudanum and daisies,

the field of sunlit grass,

where questions don’t exist.

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