The Map

All directions are a trap.

Do not follow the map

Or be caught in amber’s sap.

Oh, the body can move

With the fevers of love

Or the lifted brow of thought,

But don’t learn what’s taught.

The aimlessness of dreams

Is only the ripping of seams

On a child’s outgrown gown.

You can’t dream up or down.

So do not try to run away,

Dear one. Stand still, sway,

And you’ll not wander astray.