The Map of Extinction
We have the last maps of the Long Kaput.
They speak in four dimensional refractions,
Depicting their makers many likely ways out.
Each pathway has its notations,
Etchings that lament how many
Went that way and found nothing,
Bumped into one transdimensional
Journey-sink or another, a physics block
That sent them back, or left them
Glued to nothingness. Their maps
They continued to upgrade, adding new
Routes and details of the old, laboring
Up to the point of infallible extinction.
They mapped almost everyplace, and went
Nowhere: if they had bones,
The bones are still here. And while
We bemoan the loss of their bio-diversity,
We rejoice that they left us their maps:
Maps that hum and sizzle and embolden
The traveler, that shiver in the shivering
Yellow rain, and make the errant want to rove.
The maps speak, and we are learning their language,
Imagining how, even though their makers made them
And died in place, can listen more closely,
And will go.
