Cartographers (revised)

[Animalhill]

I drew a line from hers to mine and mapped the distance in between-
And all the boundaries that we named, without aperture or range
bisected our brawn from our brains and left our bed in a dead space.

We were Cartographers that couldn’t even make it up the stairs.

Now all the ladybugs that you have displaced, directionless and interchangeable
are waiting to bloom on my lap.
Folding and pacing, their furious little digits dig holes through my pockets,
but when they get in they will just die and dry up.

We are Cartographers that will never make it up the stairs.

We will roll about the world, absurd and alone-
Fleeing suitors and whores and the dust of our homes.
The gusts that insist us are ancient and restless;
our hearts are nomads that exist to know not where we are.