sound of boots
pulled from stinking mud

distance 
from center
of a swamp
to hard ground beyond it

a map you won’t consult
because it may reveal territory 

road trip
you won’t take
for fear of dying
en route

distance 
to action through words

speech
you won’t make
because it contains
promises

a room 
you won’t leave in daylight

a door
you won’t open
you won’t even unlock
in case you have to walk though

age
you never asked to achieve

frontier
built from demands
that you justify yourself
before you go