she walks the earth as a meditation.
where rivers ran, now deserts sleep.
she doesn’t move for gold or nations.
she walks where roots run deep.

she steps through time to trace pattern.
the sacred spiral in the sand.
not drawn for glory or dominion.
but to know the shape of land.

i know that borders were lines made by empires.
i know the maps are just the scars of war.
i know the flags mean paper for the fire.
but that’s not the shape i came for.

she may trace the s in limestone silence.
she may read stories in a stone .
she may find beauty in the broken.
where empire saw unknown.

i know that borders were lines made by empires.
i know the maps are just the scars of war.
i know the flags mean paper for the fire.
but that’s not the shape i came for.
that’s not the shape, the shape i came for.

and if i told you that her skin glowed.
with constellations white on brown.
you’d say it’s flaw or something tragic.
but i won’t write that down.

for those who measure and know so little.
their rulers bend to power’s will.
but i have seen the soul in pigment.
and found the land still living, still.

i know that borders were lines made by empires.
i know the maps are just the scars of war.
i know the flags mean paper for the fire.
but that’s not the shape i came for.
that’s not the shape i came for.
it is the shape of the land i am looking for.