What Is To Be Done

There’s a safety in the pattern.

How it unfurls itself in front of you.

It’s the map of your life

here and there you’ve marked it

in your secret language

pushed to the margins

smudged or burnt or brittle

broken and faded

It’s interiors lush, green yet

ripped open at the center. Some thing might be

made of it. If a body can fade into

fire. Redraw the map with it’s ashes.