Dotted Line

A handful of tangled dotted lines on the face of the map stuck to the breast of the wall. I stand. I count the dotted lines. From your place to my place tonight - the whole distance - is one finger joint. Ah! This is nothing: one joint of distance between us only! Craning my neck into the map the swamps and mountains and thorns I erase from the map. Now it is, now on the new map two dots together: one bright line ...