Lines are drawn in many ways
Rivers and seas, mountain ranges
Do it. Deserts are harder to use
And oceans often end in bays
Harbouring those refused
Other shelters, other roofs.

Seas are parted to let the exile through
And red marks so many partitions
In lines and rivulets, veins
On the body of the blue
Earth, ruddied with nations
Riddled with stains.

Walking in streets paved with the dead
The folded hands, the unseeing head
The numbers with zeroes marching abreast
It’s easy to stop looking for signs
The names of roads are rollcalls
Unfolding underfoot, in endless lines.