How souls remember travels.

she is floating in deviation, in a boat downriver amongst and betwixt the blades

there is no sound here, only shadow and sun. observing wide pockets of shade

and slivered carrels of bright light. in the glare, she follows the cloud maps

per contra in the dark she cannot find her compass skidding about the floorboards

climbing awkwardly from the craft to scrunch the luxury of grass beneath bare feet

peering quizzically into a forest, now being so far outside it. it is not more beautiful

than the glades and the fields and the dirt paths and the pebbles and the ants

pro forma she walks forward and wherever her foot lands she sees she makes a print

(she survives this journey via deus ex machina)