First Map
Beth Roberts
I lived once in a long landscape, with much in it.
Stones trembled in the mounting water, rivers
of fleshstone splayed across the glacial valley, lakes
brightened their reflection, fish rose above their lives,

cliffwalls pulsed across stages of weather, falling
to the rolling sound, winding into forests of molded,
gilded floors and glittering ceilings, and the sidelong depths.
I was enlarged by the place, thus more myself in it.

Later a prelude brought it back, waterfall
of increments. I thought to make a map:
Step . . . to locate the landscape. Stop . . . to feed
from the beating distance. Swim . . .