What I know of the known world:
that it is smaller than
both the universe and
my spirit.
It's populations fugitive
and tense.
I have its map
and it has changed:
Tanganyika shapeshifted to
Tanzania.
Burma now Myanmar
the Congo morphed to Zaire,
Yugoslavia riven into Serbia and Montenegro.
What is on my wall
is nostalgic geography.
My own geography
is not impervious to change:
my hair now gray
my step less sure
but my spirit sanguine
in this world, not of it.
