the world is mapped; now every inch is known.
turn where we will, there’s no discovery:
the hidden lays revealed for all to see,
with satellites big-brothering us all.
the morning comes, alone here, on the beach,
the waves don’t know the century or year;
the sand feels as it did beneath bare feet,
and where the boat is left it calmly waits.
this place is known but not yet known to me –
no, named-and-sorted’s not the same as known –
we must unmap to know, to feel a place:
and not mistake the symbol for the thing
have pity on the poor, the weak, the sick:
show kindness where you can, and be the truth,
the truth that is the marvel we can be
unmapping the humane that’s trapped