These are the notebooks,

telling the future what trails

imagination has blazed

across the years, our lives.

 

These are the illustrations,

capturing the outlines of

faces, places, wonders

we have seen along the way.

 

These are the cartographies

from here or there to elsewhere,

the maps of love, children, wars

and peace, drawn from our hearts.

 

And this, my dear, this is the one

and only compass I have used.

No matter where I’ve wandered,

its needle pointed back, to you.

(after the undated and unattributed photograph,
“The Journals of Lewis and Clark,” in the
American Philosophical Society’s collection)