Outlining Souls

All around my feet
sheets of paper,
piled in layers,
rustle whenever
I try to stand.

They are tracings.

Thin slips,
of the way I see the world.

Jagged skylines,
those salted seas,
improbable outlines
of the things strange to me.

We, the outliers,
the Distant Seers,
are the careful outliners
of the foreign things.

It’s lonely out here
on Saturn’s dullest rings,
but if I trace your outline,
you’ll be fine company.

©️CGT, 2018.

Talk to me.

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