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