Atlas

Magnifying glasses hunt
For ivory African souls;
Antarctican spirits
Frozen inside polar front
Musty winds and disheartened gold.

Pacifica calls me home
But I roam farther from her name
As I part the rugged terrain.

Fingers flip through old world maps.

Peregrination interests complete the lonely gaps

As

I spy
On
the seven seas.

Because maybe
My heart belongs someplace yonder degree.

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