the edges of the map hover before our eyes - taunting our fingertips
by definition we can never reach the horizon - always adrift just out of our reach
no more tangible than the edges of our hearts or the endings of our deeds
maybe we know when things begin but have no idea when things end
if we hold inside the map with its edges - will it cut us open
or will we feel the truth of all things - the impermanence - the imperfection
the incomplete map
the world without edges