Crease

Blue can bleed
in so many directions,
she loses the map
inside folds in the sky.

As magnetic north shifts,
geese and turtles
and planes
scramble to find their way.

Who will remember
true signatures and gutters,
head bands
and dog-ears?

Who will teach
the anatomy of the book
when our planet’s
magnetic field flips?

Part of the last
untattooed generation,
she whispers an ode
to her largest organ—Earth’s too.

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