At the end of poetry, we created a city map with layers all merged: / streets, the water flowing over them through sewers to Sound, topographic / cut corners, radio waves to cellular towers to cables beneath the earth, / a string of words.

Paths form memory past memory, / time immemorial yet here material: a living tapestry draped / to the mantle from the sky. And through this organ, breathing: // a cut, a slice, a wound. Severing the spawning streams, the falcon’s / fields and beaver ponds—even the cliffs—a highway drives / into the woods.