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poetry

Navigation without Numbers by Roger Camp

My father taught me
to read a map, unfolding
its mysterious symbology.
Pointing out its legend,
starburst beacons became
illuminated lighthouses,
while colorless roads,
unimproved like myself,
awaited discovery.
Cartographic contours
provided relief to the eye,
an aesthetic guide
for mapping out a life.
He noted that north
was a spatial orientation
that put one on the map,
while instilling confidence
in dead reckoning
to navigate life’s empty quarters.
Demonstrating by example,
he showed how to fold it up at the end.
Visual art by LiJune Choi

By gulfstreamlitmag

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