Maps of Time

We inch forward on hearsay, 
rumors, and puffs of wind, 
working the ancient arts 
of dead reckoning, stars, 
and the angle of the sun. 

We pencil in appointments, 
number our books and charts. 
And fear to sail the unfilled gaps
that look, to us, like the voids 
the old cartographers 
festooned with lurking beasts.