Some crater ashes feel like pure silk,
some- like satin clouds
showering  an invisible surface,
resting their shade above the cold body of sand
and layers of still water
whose blue is always tempted
to bring back the scents of a dormant season
when your skin felt  like a map.
A perfect set of continents
surrounded by ink-oceans,
lots of significant dots, lines and circles
to zoom in and out through memory
or, depending on the climate,
another scale model of lost reality.
For so many years on end,
(I could swear it for both now)
there was an intersection
between latitude and longitude right there;
So much youth, so much beauty
- maybe too much love-
in the center of a dry, unmapped river bed.

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