<OCT2024>
Mountains of time map
The gaps between your freckles.
And Ancient rivers carve by a journey of salt
From the well in your eye.
You the bull lie
Cast in shadow from the still cloud above.
Patient for the nights winds to propel
That stubborn little pall,
Only for a star to reveal.
And when that light finally beams,
Your well will have run dry
And your moutains will have raised high.
For a map worn
Is a map used.