Surrounded

I am surrounded by ghosts,
My body is a map of their travels.
Every scar, burn, stretch mark,
Every pound of flesh that expands their map
Is guidepost. Is landmark. Is roadside attraction.
See here? When I flex my forearm, made firm by labor?
This introduces a long blue river to the map.
When I am surrounded, I imagine erecting a dam,
Building a fence or wall,
Drilling deep into the blue that comes with flexing,
And I feel comfort in the idea of retreat.
Yet I move forward,
Through discomfort and on to understanding,
Until the river disappears,
And the landscape
Returns
To uninterrupted flesh.