its small countries · its long border · drawn after the fact
the countries are not on speaking terms. their borders are too long for the territory they enclose. one walks from missing to sadness in an afternoon and is at the same coordinate the next morning, having travelled a great distance.
the largest country is missing. it has unmapped interior. the smallest, on every survey, is acceptance — though one is told it is the most habitable. i have kept what i have found in a ribbon in the drawer with the photograph that was on the mantel.
what cannot be charted is the long border itself, which is permeable in winter and closed for no announced reason in the spring. some of what we call memory takes place along this border, on either side.