The map of the marsh hides the map of the sister,
the one whose syntax is spilled sugar and coral yolk
smear. Which map is spoiled by a weak translation?
Which means “useless as rungs on a ruined ladder”?
Once, we were sisters corralled by syntax, yoked to sky’s
coral ladder, not yet marsh-heavy with ruin. The map
continues to smear our journey into the untranslatable,
into the syntax of sugared sisters. The ladder
is nothing to the marsh. The marsh is nothing
to the ruined map, but we translate yolk to coral,
rung to journey, as each smear of light leads us into
sugar spill, corralled clouds over the yolk-thick marsh.
We are marsh-ruined sugar, sisters of spoil and spill.
We are a strange syntax that cannot be mapped.