Two-six, approaching ground zero.
All test islands seem swept clean.
Elugelab is calm.
Nothing there but water
and what appears to be a crater.
Try zooming out for a broader look.
Water dark blue in color.
Fourteen Pentagon buildings
could be comfortable inside of this hole.
There is so much more that could have been said.
We don’t have imagery.
I have sort of an inadequate feeling.
Map is not in my thesaurus.
Many is uncountable, a crowd.
And mar: mutilate, scar, and stain.
Map would be inlayed between them—
a plan in detail of the numberless
bacteria collecting on the skin
of coconut milk swirling in a shell.
Coral is a kind of skeleton
alive in the sea. It can cut your hands.
It surrounds a lagoon. Map
offers a place as though it’s owned by water.
There is no better flag.
Do the math. Draw a circle. A fisherman
pulling up ink-wet crabs
clinging to a net of hemp rope
will think it’s strange to see the sun
rising in the west. Sea stars. Chart the radius.
Map will always come before scar.