The contours of what we were orient and cement, create.
So we set out strong and believe the map to be our home; cardinal directions become the blankets we wrap around our feet, lines of longitude a way to stretch our legs (toes almost reach another hemisphere).
Things move differently when you cross that invisible line.
And we collect lost pieces of coast. And we arrange them with clumsy fingers. And we stir up the clouds to see the stars.
We are our own broken world.