The Navigator and the Cartographer

Ishmael at sea and Lazarus on the shore

A watch tattooed on a musician's arm and a sailor lost offshore

And a man desponds on the shore whilst rain falls

Upon his face, contorted with limitations.

He doesn't see the ocean but feels it partly

Scattered on his cheeks amidst tears. He reaches

To the pavement which takes more than it gives.

The ocean dissolves on the tops of buildings and

Rivulets form on the streets upon which

Shuddering oil lamps cast a diffusion of light.

The cavalcade of emotion is rendered crystal;

Clarified yet contained. A stream caught by a dam 

Swelling to disturb an eternal rhythm.

And Ishmael is a a clock on a man's arm that does not move.

The arm conveys music conveyed by a voyage

Through seething, bubbling, cascading time,

Always different.

And Ishmael does not despond like Lazarus,

He sees not that it is futile, but is in wonder, and tears

Elijah from the Bible and throws him into the ocean,

Into liquid relief, where the view of the sky is so

Spectacular. Life is rendered in all its depth.

This is all permanent impermanence, impermeable.

Immanent as the sparkling on the surface of an ocean.

Latent with all colours, and brimming with water that is life.

And every window on shore begins to witness water rise

As Ishmael's story is told they drift into the same waters

Yet are not afraid; only reminded

Of how much life is in water, and how life has immeasurable

Possibility with time and bearing witness. Of waiting.

The cartographers lean out from their windows

And realize  that their maps testify to the understanding

That everything is changing, everything contains something

And the best map is that of patterned flux emanating 

The universe. Only by letting understanding flow or

Truly resound can understanding come to life.