Mapmaker

Limitless Lady, the folds on your skin,
Each contour visible in the evening sunlight,
Drops of sweat glisten between them.
Your salty life is accumulated in the seas:
Lakes, rivers, ponds, are all full of your tears.
Some have dried out, some give life.

As I fly I see your vast terrains
Spread out below;
Whoever dared make a map of all this?
Crawling like ants,
No, more like the most minute germs on your surface,
We see your depth and detail and realize
That no dearth of wonders you have.
Yet we try to reduce, represent
What you might have to show.
Coordinates captured in squares
Stored on paper and in PCs
That which we perhaps do not have
Sufficient space to keep.

Perhaps the best representation of your bounty
Of your rich structure, your imagination,
Is the joy when I feel, when I walk
With my own two feet, along your dusty slopes
Discovering a view around the next corner.

Where are you? Why do I recognize you?
And among the scenes you have in store,
Why do I select certain ones
That I choose to call home?
Maybe you have already given me
The map I seek to make
Stored in layers of recollections,
They have been imprinted, etched,
Repeated countlessly in my mind
As have the lines on your brow been engraved
By the trickling of the sand.