among the society of cartographers: day 5

Like the silence after a hard reset. One gathers, slowly, & looks about.
This our ligature a bridge, litany of crosswalks, the steam together

hanging. A volume equation. Here where the surface area diminishes nightly
we project less--distortion is more of a master of spheres--& we are

children in churches whispering together: in arcade & triforium, we make
of our middle ground a hymn barely heard. The vernier precision of our /

without telescopy: sizing up parallax, catch to the arcminute in: one
can barely distinguish from alchemy. Tonight your Sophia, the keeper of

books & eyes. Your stubborn fixed star. & now we begin planing a country
from the wealth of data--our inheritance, the seeds of our algorithm.