map

For David

This is my gift to you, this map
to find your way back to me
should you need it.

First of all, find the river.
It will smell of patchouli
and cin­na­mon, with the
faintest touch of hope.

Follow it until you see
the boat, and climb in.
Sail south­ward, watch­ing keenly
the mon­sters and creatures
of the lands between us.
Remem­ber them, but don’t
accept food or drink from them;
like the fey, they’ll trap you
and suckle you beneath the
black­wa­ter, far from home.

After a while, the river will narrow.
Around a bend, you’ll see a beach:
hard to miss. Its crys­tal sands
may blind at first, seem solid.
But they are merely grains
and more mal­le­able than you think.
Pull up on this shore, and stow the boat.
Place coins in its hull
as pay­ment. There’s a path,
marked clearly, lead­ing upwards.
It’s dec­or­ated with shells
and pol­ished stones. This
is the way to my heart.

The path is some­times steep,
and the hand­holds and steps
may seem to change from time to time.
I’ve tried to mark the safest route
with madder and woad,
but if you slip back at this point,
have faith. If I hear you,
I’ll try to meet you half-way
and give you a hand up.

Oth­er­wise, I’ll be waiting
in the clear­ing on the crest.
Come sit at my feet,
lay your head in my lap,
and I’ll stroke your hair
while you tell me of your
adventures.