I spread maps across two tables
Though blind I cannot read them
This is the work of the day
And the river spreads
Clouds shaped like birds
Spread above houses I also
Cannot see–work of the day
People come and go
Wind sings the same song
It sang at Viking graves
Stones piled
Beside the sea
Work of the day
Reading what you can’t see
Maps wishes
Pressing my forehead there
Planet of the Blind 