how not to get lost 

how not to get lost

it would have helped to have left a trail of crumbs, i suppose, though it's a bit late for that now. and what with the birds, the neighborhood dogs, the thin gray orpans-- it may have only led to a sad and clumsy parade.

the map you brought and lovingly studied and carelessly folded, over and over, is cracked and tearing. you can still see the places you've long left behind. it's harder to make out what's ahead. with the fading lights, who can tell if it's forests of trees or mazes of buildings.

maybe the problem has been too many years looking down. you remember a game you played as a child, hours with a hand mirror, navigating the world from the sky down. getting around the chandeliers was always illuminating.

how long has it been we allowed ourselves severed from the earth? without gps or cell, how can we know where we are?

look up. see that constellation? follow the tip of the sword. don't swallow your words.