The life of the soul is not linear
but topographical—
time does not pass, it mounts
contours mimic visages, memories
of people and places
that belong to the one who says, “This is my land,”
I know how it was formed, which rivers are navigable,
where the crossings are—
how long it takes to get from A to B, and
how the light feels when it falls on hills, crests and rises…
